


Sapphire and Faded Jeans

by cornelia_h



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, M/M, Magic, Marriage Proposal, Mystery, Science Fiction, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25027873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornelia_h/pseuds/cornelia_h
Summary: “Is this you asking me to marry you?” Clark smiled, his voice quiet.“You proposed to me, after all. I merely had the rings made,” Bruce shrugged.After Clark got turned into a five-year-old boy during a League mission, Bruce slowly uncovered the truth behind the accident. He had plans for it, as always, but he just didn't expect the five-year-old Clark to propose to him.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Clark Kent
Comments: 78
Kudos: 652





	1. The Accident

**Author's Note:**

> I’m very excited to try my hand at writing a multi-chapter work. I’ve already laid out the chapters and will probably update every week or so. This story is really dear to my heart and I hope you’ll love it as much as I do :)
> 
> Special thanks to DayZero00 for being the most patient and creative beta I could ever ask for <3

It was dark in the cave. The very few LED tube lights that had been kept on sustained a weak aquamarine glow against dense shadows. Once in a while, a few taps on the keyboard echoed faintly, the only sound besides the constant low humming of the computer’s cooling fans.

Alfred was sitting in front of the monitors, light flickering on his face as he switched to another set of camera channels at the ten minutes’ mark. He had been watching over Gotham for the night in the absence of Batman, who was currently on an off-planet mission with Superman and the rest of the Justice League.

It had been a quiet night, to his relief. Master Dick had insisted on accompanying him for the monitor duty, but when Alfred spotted the boy’s first yawn not long before midnight, he managed to persuade him to bed with three peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk. As eager as the young Robin was to follow his mentor’s footsteps, his growing body still required a human amount of sleep.

“Alfred?” Batman’s voice suddenly came through the comms. Alfred tensed up for a second. The called ID indicated Batman’s personal quarters on the Watchtower. The Dark Knight rarely called from space, and Alfred would rather not recall the few times when he did.

He repressed his brief panic with refined mastery and responded in his ever-unperturbed fashion. “Yes, Master Bruce.”

“Get the guestroom closest to my bedroom ready in an hour. Make it...cozy. Like Dick’s room, maybe.” Master Bruce somehow sounded…puzzled? Hesitant? It certainly wasn’t like the usual Batman.

“May I ask who we are expecting, sir?”

“I’ll explain later. Oh, can you also…get some boys’ clothes? Some simple shirts and jeans should do. He’s about fifty inches tall.”

There was a brief pause before Alfred answered as always: “Very well, sir.”

*

Batman cursed silently as he dodged a sword with a menacing purple aura that almost brushed his side, rolling behind a large piece of floating debris to regain his stance. The assaulting aliens’ appearance caught him by surprise, which was rare.

He had known something looked abnormal when he examined the latest satellite images with Superman earlier in the afternoon. He did not, however, anticipate aliens appearing right outside the Watchtower during their meeting, let alone ones that soon turned hostile. A disoriented-looking throng of furry humanoids continued to pour out of the newly materialized portal. Clad in liquid-like shiny armor and bristling at the Justice League’s approach, they wielded their glowing swords and lunged forward to overwhelm the League.

“Batman! Go back to the Watchtower and close the portal!” Superman yelled through the commlink. “We’ll deal with the rest of them!”

“Got it. Be careful out there!” Batman evaded another sword swaying his way and teleported back to the Watchtower. His fingers were already working furiously on multiple keyboards before he even sat down.

Fortunately, the portal these creatures came through wasn’t as unpredictable as zeta beams, just powered by straightforward quantum entanglement based on oscillating particles. Before long, Batman directed the Watchtower’s gamma ray projector towards the portal to disrupt its electron energy level with a wide blast.

The rip in the space-time fabric disappeared immediately. No longer swarmed by an endless supply of attackers, the League began sweeping through the remaining army like a strong wind blowing away scanty clouds. Finally remembering to remove his space helmet, Batman walked to the telepad and awaited the return of his teammates. They would need a thorough after action review to examine the origins of these aliens and their possible motivations.

He was getting inpatient when the air finally tensed with static and a bunch of silhouettes began to materialize. Wonder Woman. Martian Manhunter. Hawkgirl. Green Lantern.

And now picked up in the arms of Green Lantern, a frightened little boy wrapped in an oversized suit of red and blue. He appeared about five or six years old. His dark hair and azure eyes looked agonizingly familiar.

Batman’s eyes narrowed, “Is that _Superman_?”

They quickly gathered in the conference room, placing the supposed Superman in a cushioned chair. The sleeves and legs of his suit and his cape were all dangling ridiculously on his small frame.

“Who—who are you?” the sweet voice of a child trembled.

“I’m Wonder Woman, Princess of Themyscira. You can all me Diana,” Diana lowered herself in front of him, holding out a hand.

“Hi Diana,” he took the hand cautiously. “I’m Clark.”

Diana gave him a warm reassuring smile, “Nice to meet you, Clark.”

“If you are Wonder Woman—“ Clark scanned across the rest of the League, “Are you all _superheroes_? _The Justice League_? Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, Hawkgirl, and—Batman?” He seemed half nervous and half excited now as he tried to get off the chair, only to trip over the suit.

“Ouch,” he flailed around in the red and blue fabric and suddenly stopped in awe as he spotted the iconic S-symbol. “Wait. Am I wearing _Superman_ ’s clothes?”

“So,” Batman ignored Clark’s starstruck remarks, trying to settle his whirling thoughts and list every possible hypothesis in his head. “Can someone explain what _happened_?”

“Superman took a hit for me from their herd leader before we could take them down,” Hawkgirl lowered her head. Green Lantern put a consoling hand on her shoulder. “By the time we teleported back, he was already like this.”

“Do any of you recognize who the aliens are and where they are from? Any guesses on why they appeared?”

“I believe they’re the Qhognas, space nomads travelling in tribes,” said Green Lantern, frowning. “I’ve seen them in nearby galaxies, but never around here. Something didn’t feel right just now. They very much rely on magic passed down through generations, so it was unlike them to use portals. They also aren’t usually this aggressive. I can look further into it.”

Batman nodded while sending a message to summon Zatanna. “J’onn, can you still sense Superman? How is his mental state?”

Martian Manhunter closed his eyes and concentrated with a furrowed brow. The room was quiet with tensed anticipation.

“There seems to be a mental block so I cannot go very deep into his mind. It appears that most or perhaps all of his memories as an adult are gone, but he can rebuild some of the connections when prompted…through the mind of a five-year-old,” he eventually reported.

“That probably explains why he recognized us,” nodded Diana. She had helped Clark remove the cape and folded it on the table.

Clark carefully rolled up the sleeves and legs of his suit so he could finally stand and walk. To everyone’s surprise, he sidled up to Batman and tugged at his cape, “Batman…Ma and Pa must be worried about me. I wanna go home.”

As Zatanna entered the room, Clark immediately hid behind Batman’s cape. Batman patted gently on his shoulder, “It’s okay. This is Zatanna. She’s a friend.”

“How _adorable_ he is,” Zatanna held Clark’s tiny hand and examined his face with a quizzical look, “It does look like magic, but since his power hasn’t manifested at this age, I can’t risk experimenting spells on him. There could be irreversible damage to his powers or memories.”

“What then?” demanded Batman.

“I’d say just wait it out. Looking at the strength of it, the effect should wear off on its own.”

“How sure are you?”

“Like, ninety percent sure?”

“What about the other ten percent?” Batman’s eyes narrowed.

“Magic isn’t science, you know,” shrugged Zatanna.

“And how soon will it wear off?”

“That I really can’t say for sure.” Seeing Batman’s glare, she grimaced and added: “I think two weeks should be enough.”

“I want something more accurate than that, Zatanna. If Superman is inactive and vulnerable, we need to know what to expect as much as possible.”

“Well, you’re welcome to go ask others to see if they say differently. And I’m sure you already have, like, a dozen contingency plans anyways.”

“I wanna go home,” repeated Clark in a weak voice, still grabbing a small fistful of black cape in his hand.

“We can’t let him go back to Metropolis or Smallville like this. There are too many variables,” said Batman, glancing at his teammates for ideas. “We need a place that’s discreet. A place where he could be comfortable and absolutely secure for possibly two weeks.”

Suddenly everyone was looking at him.

Batman grated his teeth, scooped up Clark, and grabbed the folded red cape from the table. “I’ll need to make a call first.”

*

Clark was sitting quietly on the bed in Batman’s personal quarters as Bruce finished the call with Alfred. Bruce took off his cowl and turned to half kneel in front of the boy: “Clark, do you remember me?”

“You’re…Batman?” Clark answered tentatively.

Bruce silently sighed. “Yes, but my real name is Bruce Wayne. You can call me Bruce, when I’m not wearing the mask.”

“Bruce,” Clark gave him a small smile, reaching to touch the cowl resting behind his neck. Bruce smiled back.

“Clark, did you understand what happened just now? What we were saying?”

“I know you’re all superheroes, and I’m…Superman?”

“Yes. You were Superman, as an adult, and some aliens turned you into a five-year-old with magic. We need you to stay somewhere safe before you can return to normal, so I’m afraid we can’t take you to your Ma and Pa right now,” Bruce was both acutely aware of the absurdity of what he just said and painfully submitted to the truth of it. He added with his most gentle voice, “Would you trust me on what I said?”

“I trust you,” Clark responded like it was the easiest thing to do. He kicked his legs and tried to lift himself up with his arms, “But how can I be Superman? I can’t fly.”

“Your superpowers are gone now, but we believe they’ll come back to you when you turn back to an adult. Before that, I’ll take you to my home so I can help you. You’ll be safe and comfortable there. Is that okay with you?”

“Okay,” Clark nodded slowly and realization dawned on his face. “Wow, does it mean I get to live with _Batman_?”

Bruce’s lips curved slightly upwards as he stood up and pulled the cowl back on, “Yes Clark. Yes you do.”


	2. The Bedroom

“Have a good night’s sleep, Master Clark.”

As Bruce walked upstairs and reached the hallway, Alfred was retreating from Clark’s bedroom and closing the door. He nodded to confirm that everything went well with Clark, to which Bruce nodded in acknowledgement.

Bruce felt his phone vibrating and picked up to find a new message—Lois responded that she would make up some excuses for Clark’s absence. He quickly typed a thank-you, exchanged goodnights with Alfred, and retired to his own bedroom.

Tugging on one sleeve to quickly remove his t-shirt, Bruce ambled into the dressing room to change into pajamas. He hung his day clothes in the designated section and looked around. From the left wall extending to the middle and the right, all his Bruce Wayne garments were meticulously categorized and color-coded: simple cotton and cashmere-silk blend t-shirts, mostly black and white; dark jeans, pants, and workout shorts; equally dark trench coats and cashmere overcoats; tailored wool and silk suits in black, grey, and navy; basic black tuxedos and velvet ones in midnight blue and burgundy; and some much more brightly colored shirts, polos, shorts, and pants for necessary playboy occasions.

Tucked in the right wall was a much smaller section that contrasted both of Bruce’s styles. An array of university, club, and charity t-shirts saved over the years; flannel shirts in various colors; khakis, jeans, and sweatpants; and cotton and wool suits, some of which left purposefully rumpled, mostly also in black, grey, and navy except for one in brown corduroy that always made Bruce crinkle his nose. Bruce ran his fingers along the shoulder of that particularly ghastly suit—Clark in his current state wouldn’t be able to wear any of those.

Bruce quickly washed himself, turned off the lamp, and finally lay down in bed, feeling wearier than his usual level of overworking and sleep deprivation. He rolled on his side, staring at the other perfectly uncreased pillow. It felt strange to see Clark’s half of the bed empty without knowing when he would come back to fill it.

Out of more than seven years that they had been together, Clark had been living in the manor for the past six, but even so he wouldn’t stay here every night. His life as Clark Kent, still appearing to the public as unassociated from Bruce Wayne’s as any other Metropolis journalist’s, necessitated from time to time that he stayed in his own apartment or at a hotel near the latest story leads he had discovered. Of course, Superman and Batman were also often away for missions, together or separately.

But no matter how long one or both of them were away, Bruce could always count on Clark’s return as much as Clark expected his. They had had missions gone wrong or faced death more times than they could count, but Clark was one of the most powerful beings under the yellow sun, and Bruce, like Clark would sometimes comment, was just too stubborn to give in. They trusted each other, knowing that however turbulent the journey, there was always a beacon shining from afar that once reached, they would sure be in the safe harbor of each other again.

Right now, even with the five-year-old Clark sleeping across the hallway, Bruce wasn’t so sure. He tried to close his eyes to sleep, but his gaze kept going back to the sight of Clark smiling with his parents in front of their farmhouse—a single framed photo resting on the other nightstand along with a small pile of books and notepads. These, Bruce realized, besides Clark’s clothes in the closet and the extra toothbrush by the sink, were the only evidence that they had ever been together. If either or both of them were gone—memories wiped out or physically dead—how much of what they had shared would there still be left?

*

“Morning Bruce,” Clark pecked on his temple as he rolled out of bed.

Bruce grunted in response. He had had only three hours’ sleep after last night’s patrol, but he really couldn’t skip this morning’s Wayne Enterprises board meeting addressing the potential economic downturn.

By the time he shambled drearily into the bathroom, Clark was already shaving, carefully angling and reflecting his heat vision off the hand mirror. Bruce had offered an electric razor once, but Clark enjoyed his little quirk and Bruce enjoyed watching him doing it, so that was it.

“Ma called last night,” Clark said as he patted Bruce’s aftershave on his face. He always said he liked the smell. “Pete’s little brother is getting married. It’s gonna be a small wedding for close friends and family. Ma’s making the cake.”

What he left unsaid hung heavily in the air and Bruce knew exactly what it was. _She asked when—if—we might plan to do the same thing._

They had had the talk before. More than once, actually. Despite being perhaps the most idiosyncratic heir the Wayne family had ever produced, Bruce would liked to consider himself traditional, but it was still no comparison to the Midwestern ways.

He knew why they should just as well as why they shouldn’t. They were compatible and comfortable with each other, as they should be after being together for so many years. Clark sometimes declared in the heat of the moment that he had never been so in love, a statement to which Bruce acquiesced, but Bruce knew better how dependence on love and intimacy could be easily manipulated and twisted into deadly weaknesses.

Being in a relationship with Clark was already an indulgence. A happy, content person was a person off-guard. Batman never lowered his guard. Therefore, the closer they grew as a couple, the more carefully they maintained the public distance between Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne, as well as Superman and Batman. It was safe and it had worked well.

“Now that it’s been legal…” Clark’s voice broke his train of thought. “Maybe it’s the Smallville in me, but I wish people could know, you know? That I’m proud and happy to be with you.”

Bruce was brushing his teeth so he didn’t respond.

Clark left a gentle kiss at the nape of his neck, “Gotta head over to work now. See you this afternoon at the Watchtower? I know you’ve been wanting to go through those satellite images.”

Bruce nodded as Clark walked out to the balcony and took flight.

*

Bruce jolted from the limbo between waking and sleeping when someone knocked on his door. “What?” He growled, reluctantly rolling up to sit on the edge of the bed.

The door opened a slit to reveal Clark’s timid eyes, shining despite the darkness.

Bruce softened his voice, “Come in, Clark. What is it?”

“May…may I sleep with you here?” he asked quietly, unmoving. “It’s too dark…too big… and too empty in my room.” Bruce beckoned and Clark padded inside, crawling carefully onto the empty side of the bed.

“How do you sleep on your own in this place?” Clark asked once he settled in the comforter.

 _I don't. At least not in the past six years._ Bruce thought bitterly. “I’m used to it,” he answered instead.

Clark curled up against Bruce, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?”

“I wish I could be as brave as you are,” he whispered.

“You’re the bravest person I know, Clark.”

“Not right now. I’m sorry I’m not Superman right now.” Clark’s childish voice sounded distant with his back towards Bruce. Bruce turned him over so that he could face him. “Stop apologizing. It’s not your fault,” he said emphatically.

“Okay.”

“Also, treat here like your home, too. Try to make yourself comfortable.”

Clark bit on his lower lip, seeming to make up his mind, and said a bit more loudly, “Okay.” Bruce ruffled his hair, the cowlick falling over his forehead. “Good night, kiddo.”

“Good night.”

Bruce could feel Clark’s breath against his arm gradually steadying as the boy drifted asleep. He studied his peaceful cherubic face. There were so many features that remained exactly the same, but this Clark looked so young, so small, and so fragile that he didn’t know what to do with him. He never had to deal with children this little. And he certainly never had to deal with a child who, only hours ago, was still Superman, his teammate, best friend, lover, partner.

Staring into darkness, Bruce couldn’t sleep at all.


	3. The Son

Dick woke up early in the morning and felt more refreshed than he had been in a while. Alfred probably had a point about going to bed earlier—he might actually consider it in the future when he didn’t have patrol, because _nothing_ got in the way of him patrolling with Bruce. He found himself looking forward to the nightly activities much more than his coursework at Gotham Academy these days, but alas, Bruce said school was important for any aspiring detective.

He sauntered into the dining room to find a small child happily munching Alfred’s blueberry pancakes with a glass of milk. Bruce sat right next to him, sipping a cup of black coffee. His dark circles were worse than even his usual.

Now _this_ was a curious situation for an aspiring detective. Dick always loved any opportunity to try his hand at solving a mystery. “Did you just adopt a new Robin without telling me? Aw, Bruce, that really hurt the feelings.”

“Dick—” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Is the black hair and blue eyes just a coincidence? I bet we could pass as real family now if—” Dick liked it when someone uninformed at school or at a manor party took him as Bruce’s real son. He visited Clark’s office once and some people even thought he were _his_. Not that it mattered, but it still stirred a warm proud feeling in his chest.

“Dick—”

“Where’s Clark, by the way? I thought he’d come back with you—”

“Dick!” Bruce raised his voice with a mix of warning and resignation. “You’re looking at him.”

“What?” For a moment, Dick thought maybe he didn’t get enough sleep after all.

“This is Clark.”

As if on cue, the child swallowed a gulp of milk and waved, “Hi.”

“This isn’t a joke, right?” Dick took a step back and remembered that Batman never told jokes. “What happened?”

Bruce sighed and explained with such concision and fluency that Dick was certain this wasn’t his first time retelling the story. For one, Alfred seemed to have already known. Understanding that it wouldn’t help with Bruce’s mood or Clark’s situation to dwell on his own surprise, Dick caught up with the facts as quickly as he could and decided to be solution-oriented.

“So you don’t really remember who I am,” Dick concluded as Bruce finished, pointing at himself to Clark.

“I know your name is Dick,” said the small boy with an apologetic look.

“Let me reintroduce myself, then,” Dick held out his hand, grinning. “Dick Grayson, Bruce’s adopted son. I just turned twelve last month. And just like Bruce’s Batman, I’m also Robin. I help him fight the bad guys.” He shook Clark’s hand solemnly and then did a backflip for dramatic purposes.

Clark clapped enthusiastically, “Whoa…That’s so cool!”

“Thank you.” Dick bowed lightly, instantly gratified with the response from his sole intended audience. “You know, I could barely say a word when I first met Superman. It kinda feels good to be on the other end of things.”

Clark responded with a weak shy smile and looked down into his milk.

*

By the time Dick returned home from school, Bruce had just finished a full body exam for Clark in the cave’s medical bay. Cables, electrodes, and vials among other equipment scattered across the table. Bruce was reading the results with such intensity on his face that neither Dick nor Clark dared speaking.

“The results all seem normal—” Bruce concluded after a long time, still frowning. Clark’s small shoulders visibly relaxed. “—For a five-year-old with _definitely_ no powers,” he added emphatically, sighing.

“Ahem…since when is having no powers a bad thing?” said Dick with hands on his hips, “I can train him.” Bruce glanced at him and heaved another sigh. Dick had never seen him sigh this often in a day.

Dick’s mood lifted a little when Bruce agreed to join them for dinner—Bruce had been so busy in the past few weeks that Dick hadn’t seen him around very much outside patrols and training sessions. Sitting at the table, he was still getting used to the sight of the small boy that was Clark, who got Bolognese sauce on both of his cheeks. Bruce, however, finished a turkey sandwich in a few quick bites before standing up again.

“Where are you going?” asked Dick.

“Patrol.”

Dick wished he could stay longer, but he also knew Bruce wouldn’t miss another night. “Can I go with you?”

“Not tonight. I want you to stay with Clark tonight. It’s probably easier for him to hang around with you. Is that all right? If you need anything, just ask Alfred.”

Dick nodded: “Can I show him around the cave then?”

“That’s fine. Just don’t touch anything you shouldn’t. Both of you.” Bruce finished another cup of espresso in one gulp, his voice already gravelly like Batman’s without him purposefully lowering it. He must be really tired.

“The cookies should be ready soon. Would you like one before you leave?” said Alfred as he took away the empty cup.

“I’m okay. The kids can have it.”

Dick and Clark each had more cookies than they should before they headed back to the cave. This time without Bruce brooding nearby, Clark appeared much more confident walking around, fascinated with everything. He mouthing a big silent wow at the sight of the life-size T-Rex, gazed at the line of prototype suits in awe, and tried so hard to refrain from touching the wide array of gadgets on the workbench that he was almost trembling.

Dick thought Clark might pass out from sheer excitement when he handed him a batarang and demonstrated by throwing another one at the Giant Penny with an indenting, resounding clang. _Well. Bruce doesn’t have to know about this._

“So, what do you wanna do next?” Dick asked as Clark stretched out his neck to peek at the faint shadows of bats behind the stalactites.

Clark turned and pointed to the monitors, “Can we see Batman from here?”

“Sure. You wanna see him patrol Gotham?” Clark nodded. Dick switched the camera channels to a few of their usual vantage points. Soon Batman emerged from the shadows on one of the screens, towering over the glistening lights of Gotham with his blowing cape like a dark guardian angel. Clark watched with a captivated interest, his blue eyes wide open.

Alfred came down to join them by the monitors with orange juice and some fresh buttered popcorn. Clark’s eyes never left the screens as he shoved a handful into his mouth. With a flash of grappling hook and a flutter of black silk, Batman disappeared like he was never there.

“Wow. Does he do this every day?”

“Yeah pretty much. I sometimes go out with him, too. To help him with stuff,” Dick was enjoying the admiring look from the smaller boy, who followed up expectantly: “Did Superman use to help him too?”

“All the time! People call them the ‘World’s Finest’ for a reason. They’re the _greatest_ heroes and they make the _best_ team,” said Dick proudly.

“Wow.”

“I know, right? I’m lucky to have the coolest dads ever. It’s too bad I can’t really tell anyone about what they do, but I wish I could be that good when I grow up.”

“Superman and Batman are _your dads_?” Dick bit the inside of his cheek at Clark’s confused face. _Good job, Grayson. Now how are you going to explain to him?_

“Master Dick means that Superman and Batman are good role models, like father figures,” explained Alfred helpfully, sipping his tea.

Clark didn’t pursue the question, so Dick reshuffled the channels to find something more to show him. Luckily, one of the cameras in an alleyway captured Batman again, who effortlessly dodged a thug’s forward knife attack and rendered him unconscious on the ground with a well-placed strike to the side of the neck.

Clark’s face soon turned from mesmerized, however, to dismayed. “Superman could have been doing that too,” he squirmed in his chair, furrowing his brow. “I wish I could be more useful.” He fell in silence with a deflated look that Dick thought was so out of place on his face.

“Come on. Don't beat yourself up for it,” Dick tried his most cheerful voice. “You won’t stay like this forever. Bruce already said you’d be fine in two weeks or so, right? It’s like getting a cold or something.” Clark nodded slowly, still not looking quite mollified.

Dick patted on his shoulder, squeezed it gently, and flashed the golden smile of the Boy Wonder. “Can I tell you something that Superman always says to me? You just need to have a little faith.”

*

Walking out of his en-suite bathroom, Dick was about to head back to bed in the middle of the night when he heard the faintest of footsteps outside. He stuck his head into the dark hallway and saw Bruce’s silhouette standing in front of Clark’s guest room, hand hovering hesitantly above the doorknob. “Bruce,” he called out under the breath, holding open his door as Bruce walked over to come inside.

“Why are you still up?” asked Bruce, taking a seat on the bed as Dick climbed back in the covers and leaned against the pillows.

“I was just going to the bathroom. How was patrol?”

“I got some new leads on the serial child abduction case that you helped with last week. I expect to find the culprits very soon.”

“Cool. Can I join you when you go capture them?”

“I’ll consider it.”

It wasn’t a yes, because Bruce could still refuse to let him tag along whenever he decided the situation might escalate to become too dangerous for him, but it was close enough to an affirmative answer. Dick couldn’t help but clenched his fist and cheered: “Yes!”

“How was tonight with Clark?”

“It was good! Clark wanted to see you on patrol, so it was kinda like a…movie night? That karate chop you did was awesome!”

“I’m not sure if you should show him something so violent,” said Bruce with a frown.

“But maybe seeing you fight can help him remember things. Maybe he’ll recover faster this way,” Dick suggested.

Bruce huffed through the nose, shaking his head slightly: “I don’t think that’s how it works, Dick.”

“He is going to return to normal soon, right?”

“It’s believed so, but I don’t know when for sure,” Bruce admitted.

Dick sat up straight and put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Don't worry. I’ll help you take care of him.”

“Thank you,” responded Bruce, looking almost amused as his eyes softened and his lips quirked up just so slightly at the corners. Dick wanted him to know he was very serious about the offer: “Of course! You can count on me. That’s what you need a Robin for.”

Bruce patted him lightly on the head, standing up. “You should go back to sleep.”

“Yeah yeah. ‘Night Bruce.”


	4. The Meals

Bruce could already hear a boy’s excited voice echoing across the hall as he descended the stairs. He walked into the kitchen where Clark was gleefully padding around, adding handfuls of cranberries and white chocolate chips to the dough that Alfred was mixing.

“Good morning, Bruce! Or is it already good afternoon?”

“Good afternoon indeed, Master Bruce.”

“Afternoon to you both,” responded Bruce.

“We’re baking cookies! Alfred said these were your favorite, but Dick and I ate them all last night, so we’re making more for you now.” Clark popped a few cranberries and chocolate chips into his mouth, chewing like a happy hamster.

“I can hardly wait,” Bruce felt the corners of his mouth curling upwards. Clark suddenly jumped and ran to open the oven, “Ah! I almost forgot!”

“Careful, Master Clark. The plate might be hot.”

Clark brought out a plate of mushroom and arugula omelet that had been kept warm inside the oven and stood on tiptoe to set it on the kitchen island. He eagerly took Bruce’s hand, dragged him insistently to the nearby bar stool, and pushed him to sit down. The omelet looked only slightly more charred than Alfred’s usual perfection. Bruce’s stomach growled at the tantalizing smell of egg and butter.

“I made this on my own! _And_ I squeezed the orange juice myself,” Clark proudly declared, running again to fetch a glass.

“Master Clark is quite a talented young chef,” cooed Alfred.

*

Clark guided his shoulders and pushed Bruce to sit on the dining chair. “Dick is out with friends for dinner. And I dismissed Alfred tonight,” he proudly declared.

“I can’t think of why,” said Bruce dryly.

“Oh really? Then why did you buy this wine today?” Clark teased, drawing small circles on Bruce’s shoulders with his thumbs.

“Just tired of old vintages. Feel like something more fruit-driven for a change.”

“And it just so happens that it was produced seven years ago.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And it’s clearly by divine intervention that it matches perfectly with my mother’s beef stew.”

“More like sheer coincidence,” Bruce deadpanned.

Clark leaned down and kissed him with a smile, “You Shakespearean actor of a detective.”

Bruce caught Clark’s forearm and bit gently on his lower lip before Clark tried to pull away, dragging him closer with a strong tug that Clark obediently followed. After an indeterminate length of time, he practically jumped from Bruce’s lap to save the stew from burning, flushed and panting.

“This wine is great. You should get more for your cellar.” Clark’s eyes narrowed in contentment as he took another sip.

“Sure. The stew is great too,” Bruce took another bite and added with a smirk, “Perfect doneness.”

Clark chuckled, “Thank _Rao_.”

They raised their glasses again, an elegant chink of delicate crystal.

“You know, I kind of wish you had that Kryptonite ring out right now, so I could feel more of the alcohol.” Clark rested his chin on his hand, swirling the glass to examine the ruby liquid.

Bruce arched an eyebrow. “I thought you gave it to me to put you _under_ control; not out of it.”

“Well, you’re probably the only one who can do both.”

Bruce mulled over the meaning of that line for a while. He came upon the Kryptonite ring so early on during his career that, despite having worked together, both Clark and he were still fastidious about boundaries and territories. He had initially decided to keep the ring for himself, devising plans and backup plans to contain Superman should he ever go rogue. The new addition to his utility belt should have given him a strategic edge, since Clark wasn’t even aware that the ring was in his possession. It was perhaps against Bruce’s better judgment that he ended up leaving the ring at Clark’s disposal, but it came as a greater surprise when Clark visited him the next day at the cave to return it to him.

“Do you realize what you’re asking?” Bruce remembered himself saying.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” said Clark back then. “I want the means to stop me to be in the hands of a man I can trust with my life.”

Clark’s face had been honest and earnest, hardly any different from how he looked right now as he sat across the dining table. Knowing no one else could bring down or turn on this god of a man in ways he could, Bruce allowed himself to savor the warm bittersweet feeling in his chest. The wine was pretty good tonight.

Deciding he could later blame it on the alcohol, Bruce said, “I’m grateful that you have trusted me with the ring.”

Clark looked up, his eyes inhumanly bright and blue. “Of course. I trust you with everything, Bruce.”

“You didn't even know me very well back then. You said it yourself that we weren’t even friends.”

“If I remember correctly, I said we weren’t _exactly_ friends,” Clark gave him a smile so gentle and affectionate that it almost hurt to look. “I guess I’m never very good at being subtle.”

Bruce couldn’t resist reaching out to take Clark’s left hand and print a kiss on his fingers, lingering just below the knuckle of his ring finger. He kind of wished he had a ring out at the moment, too, but maybe not made of Kryptonite, but platinum, perhaps inlaid with sapphire to bring out Clark’s eyes…

“Mine,” he whispered into Clark’s hand, and was pleased with the shudder in response.

They finished loading up the dishwasher when Clark suddenly stooped down and lifted him up like he weighed nothing at all. Almost reflexively, Bruce locked his legs around Clark’s waist to steady himself, although the firm grip on his thighs was more than enough purchase. Bruce felt the alcohol rushing to his head and blood rushing to some other part of his body.

“So, the seventh year. Do you feel the itch?” Clark mumbled as he mouthed Bruce’s jawline and moved down to nuzzle his neck. Bruce threw back his head, his pulse throbbing under the warm breath that sent a jolt of shivers down his spine.

“Hmm. I feel _plenty_ ,” he said, feeling the subtle vibration of his low, breathy words against Clark’s lips.

“Where?” Clark looked up and asked innocently, eyes full of playful mirth. He already began walking towards the grand staircase, still carrying Bruce.

Bruce showed him exactly where.

*

“Diana, what’s your location and how’s the situation?” Batman asked through the cave’s comm system, eyes fixed on the monitors simultaneously showing various TV channels broadcasting live breaking news. An elementary school building in Metropolis went ablaze right after the lunch break, trapping more than a hundred students and teachers inside. On the screens, Superman just lowered three more shivering children next to an ambulance before returning into the smoking building.

“There are still two teachers trapped on the third floor. Otherwise J’onn has confirmed everyone is out,” responded Wonder Woman against the popping and crackling of the flames.

“Good. Let me know when you finish or need more assistance.” The League, or Batman specifically, had had plans for Superman’s short-term absence and executed them a few times without a hitch. Martian Manhunter would usually shape-shift to cover for both Clark Kent and Superman. Anything requiring immunity to fire, general invulnerability, or strength beyond his ability would be taken over by Wonder Woman, who would temporarily transform into the Kryptonian hero with the help of Zatanna’s magic.

Batman continued to watch the live action feed while switching a few screens to display print and social media pages for related updates. He scrolled through the usual blurry videos and pixelated photos from onlookers and hastily arrived journalists, often captioned in all caps and with more exclamation marks then necessary.

He stopped when he spotted a question with more than two hundred reposts: “Why isn’t Superman using his freeze breath this time???” The aliased user asked, a heated debate already forming underneath their post. Batman considered whether he should censor this thread like he previously would some others to prevent suspicion of Superman’s substitutes, but decided against it for this case. There were always people questioning Superman’s actions and it would look more suspicious if he overstepped with information control.

“Batman, the rescue is completed.” Wonder Woman spoke again, followed by the Martian’s voice: “The police, the fire department, and the medics have things under control here. I will stay a bit longer to watch over the cleanups.”

“Thank you both for your work,” responded Batman.

“How’s…the child?” asked Wonder Woman, not wanting to divulge more than necessary when they could be heard.

“The same,” Batman answered curtly.

“Thanks for taking him in,” she sighed sympathetically. “I know it’s probably a lot of work, but you’re his best friend, and you have the space and the experience with Robin…”

“It’s fine, Diana.”

“Keep us posted about his status, won’t you?”

“Certainly. I have to go now. Batman out,” he said, muting the microphone and ready to move on to the next task.

Bruce clicked open his file on the child abduction case and examined the victims. Three boys to date, all between five and eight years old, Caucasian, and with dark curly hair and brown eyes. They were taken at three public parks on different weekends, and their families had no connections with each other at all. There had been no eyewitnesses so far. The children all went home safely after their parents paid the ransom, but were too shocked to give any usable details about their kidnappers other than it was a man with a woman who kept calling them Danny.

Bruce began playing the parks’ limited security footage that he had acquired last night. There were so many families with children that it was almost impossible to sift out the suspects. He activated his image recognition AI to simultaneously compare all footage from cameras near the locations of the abductions.

Quiet footsteps sounded behind him. Bruce swiveled to find Clark struggling to keep a tray balanced between his small arms. “I brought you tea and cookies! They’re still warm.”

“Thank you, Clark,” Bruce took over the tray and set it aside by the keyboard, but Clark didn't leave and instead looked up at the monitors: “What are you working on?”

“A case,” Bruce answered simply, eyes already back to the screens.

“Can I help you?”

“Not here,” said Bruce as he reached for a white chocolate and cranberry cookie and took a bite.

“But Dick says he helps you, and Superman did, too.”

“Dick’s…older than you, trained. And he helps only when it’s safe for him.”

“Is this case safe for me?”

The system returned with screenshots of two blurry adult figures, at each location with a child of a slightly different height. The adults and the children were all wearing hats with wide brims that obscured their faces, so there would be no chance of running further facial recognition. Bruce huffed in annoyance. “Three children your age have been kidnapped, so clearly not.”

He realized the effect of his words when Clark winced a little. Smoothing the boy’s hair with one hand, he quickly added: “Don’t worry. You’re safe here. I’ll make sure of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you also want to relive the memory of the Kryptonite ring, here is [Action Comics #654](https://2.bp.blogspot.com/hD_Mar5b0kraCVsXshMj1pfLzZPANdw0y7uaYSfIjYMRt1QxiP8tp6wXWo2PfBkKdCeDvweD44qk=s1600).


	5. The Meeting

Bruce first brought up the idea to Clark over three years ago, that he intended to have WayneTech collaborate with LexCorp on what he called “The InterSpace Project,” an ambitious plan to establish a satellite Internet constellation around Earth for the consumer market. They were both lying in bed, slick with sweat and come and flushed with afterglow. Clark rested his head on Bruce’s chest while Bruce casually played with his curls.

Clark propped up on an elbow to look at Bruce: “You know I don’t like it when Lex Luthor’s name is involved, but I suspect you have good enough reasons for it.”

Bruce smiled. “You already interviewed me when WayneTech started the project last year, didn't you? My stance remains the same: the opportunity of disrupting the stagnant and highly bureaucratic telecommunications industry is simply too delicious to pass.” He tightened the grip on Clark’s hair and pulled him into another kiss.

“And…as you have so poignantly pointed out in your article,” Bruce sighed contentedly as Clark’s hand traced along the scars from his sternum to his abdomen and then roamed further down, “aside from promising long term profits given the current estimates, the media attention, thanks to folks like you,” he continued between kisses, “has consistently driven up Wayne Enterprises’ overall stock price.”

“Oh come on. None of these stale sound bites actually explain why you need to work with Luthor, of all people.” Clark broke off their lingering kiss, putting on a half-serious investigative journalist’s face.

“Since LexCorp decided to enter the competition for satellite Internet, the level of corporate espionage and talent poaching has become unsustainable for us both. Luthor has advantages in military technology and government access. It makes sense to collaborate.”

“That part is clear enough, but knowing you, I don’t think that’s the only reason.” Clark pressed on with that professionally encouraging smile of his. Bruce knew Clark understood the reasons but enjoyed hearing him dissecting them out loud anyways.

“It’ll also give me good excuses to monitor his activities more closely. A lot of the technology I’ve adopted for myself and the League could be very dangerous if gotten into the wrong hands, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Luthor had similar secrets. If anything bad happens, I need to be the first to know.”

“Of course. I’ve been keeping files on Luthor’s recent activities. I can share them with you sometime.”

“Sounds good. So I’ll keep your—well, our—enemy close while making more money. What could be a better plan?” Bruce smirked.

Lightly caressing the back of Bruce’s hand with two fingers that almost tickled, Clark responded with a doting smile: “Nothing’s ever simple with you, is it?”

Bruce grabbed Clark’s fingers, brought them to his lips for a quick kiss followed by a long, deliberate lick, and chuckled as Clark stiffened in reaction. “Now, unless you’re interviewing me for another article—and if that’s the case, you should contact my publicist first—I’d like to start round two of what we did before.”

*

Bruce left the manor early in the morning, before Clark and Dick even finished their breakfast. He called his designated company chauffeur to pick him up with the Maybach, knowing Alfred should stay at home with Clark but not wanting to drive himself to his meeting with Luthor in their subtle power play.

As the car pulled out smoothly from the driveway, Bruce unfolded the tray table and took out the stack of briefings from the seat pocket to see what his team wanted him to know about the upcoming meeting.

Now three years into the collaboration between WayneTech and LexCorp, The InterSpace Project had already launched its first batch of twenty satellites into the low Earth orbit last year, with the operating system designed by WayneTech, some of the software by LexCorp, and the hardware a combination from both. The next launch of thirty-eight more satellites had been scheduled for later this year, and the team would be showing him and Luthor the upgraded prototype at their joint research facility today.

The Head of R&D Eric Marsden greeted Bruce at the entrance when Luthor’s Rolls Royce came to a stop right next to them. The bald man stepped out of the car, grabbed Bruce’s hand for a firm handshake, and patted him hard on the back: “Bruce! My friend, it’s been a while. I see you’re in the mood for a vacation again?”

Bruce kept his grip strong enough to match Luthor’s, but just a tad limp to give him the illusion of an upper hand. In stark contrast to Luthor’s black suit and red tie, he was dressed in a white linen shirt with rolled up sleeves, cream trousers, and brown boat shoes, looking more prepared for a yacht party than a business meeting.

“It’s good to see you again, Lex. I’ve been looking forward to this, but I’ll have to admit I’m also looking forward to catching up with a few charming friends of mine afterwards.” He lowered his voice with a slanted smile, as if sharing a secret.

Luthor let out a rough laugh: “We’d better be quick, then.”

“This way, gentlemen.” Eric turned to lead them into the building. After security check, they walked through the fabrication areas packed with machines and assembly materials for avionics and rockets. At the end of the expansive space, they reached a pristine glass-walled room, where both the previous and current prototypes of the satellites were on display.

“Shall we begin, then?” Eric clasped his hands briskly. “I’ll give you an overview of the major changes and upgrades, and feel free to stop me for any questions.”

He gestured to the two prototypes behind him. “It’s pretty obvious when we compare these models side by side that we’ve significantly slimmed down the design to a flat-panel look for greater efficiency. In this way, we’ll be able to stack them up to launch all thirty-eight satellites in the same rocket that we used last time for the twenty.”

Tapping on the screen stationed in the middle of the room, he pulled up an interactive map showing a 3D Earth model surrounded by colored dots representing current and future satellite distribution. “The new prototype still contains the customized navigation sensors, but now further recalibrated for better precision placement of broadband throughput.”

“We’ll continue to use the Department of Defense’s debris tracking system to prevent collision. The previous gamma ray projectors for unavoidable debris removal were too bulky for the new compact design, so we adopted this new model—” he pointed to a component displayed on the nearby shelf that looked like a hybrid of an emergency lantern and a gas tank, “—that is much smaller in size but has only slightly lower power.”

Something flashed in Luthor’s eyes as he drawled with a smile that didn't touch his eyes: “A depowered projector? I hope we’re not cutting expenses on small parts only to have the entire satellite smashed by debris.”

“We’ve run multiple simulations where this projector actually functioned more effectively with the assistance of the new autonomous algorithms that we have co-developed with WayneTech,” Eric explained as Luthor made an ambiguous hum in response. Bruce flashed an innocently proud smile to them both.

“And the last thing—we’re excited that the upcoming batch of satellites will be the first to be krypton-propelled. LexCorp’s new ion thrusters have proven to be the most energy-efficient option in achieving high specific impulse.”

Ion thrusters by LexCorp, powered by nothing else but krypton. Bruce wondered if it had served as a double entendre kind of twisted joke for Luthor. “Why krypton?” he asked.

“We considered xenon too, since krypton requires higher energy to produce ions, but krypton is about ten times less expensive, and krypton ions require lower acceleration voltages to produce the same velocity.”

Bruce nodded with an impressed pout, slipping his hands into the pants pockets. “Cool. Sounds high-tech to me.”

“Any other questions, gentlemen?”

“That’s all I need to hear, and I know Bruce has somewhere else to be, don't you?” Luthor’s lips pursed slyly.

“Ha! You know me too well, Lex.”

When they returned to the lobby, on the TV screen in the waiting area, a talk show host was telling the story of Superman having saved over a hundred people from the school fire. Luthor stopped abruptly in front of it.

“What is it?” asked Bruce.

“Hmm. That’s odd.”

“What’s odd?” In his head, Bruce already began to replay the video clip shown by the host just now. Did anything betray the fact that it was actually Wonder Woman disguising as Superman? No, he was certain there hadn’t been any slip.

“Superman is still flying around Metropolis,” Luthor muttered thoughtfully.

Bruce tilted his head: “Doesn't he always?”

“Very unfortunately, yes, for the menace that he is,” Luthor chuckled wryly. “Just between friends, Bruce…I had reasons to expect that Superman should’ve been quite…let’s say, otherwise occupied.”

Bruce tensed up.

“But I guess I was wrong.” Shrugging lightly, Luthor walked over and slung an arm across Bruce’s shoulders: “Anyways, these feel-good vigilantes don’t really matter, do they? It’s people like you and me—it’s the brilliance of the mind and the technology we’re building together that can truly save this world.”

Bruce clenched his teeth hard to maintain the vapid smile on his face. “You’re the brilliant mind between us, Lex. I’m just helping with some technology.”


	6. The Little Prince

Bruce wasn’t lying to Luthor when he said he had an appointment with some “charming friends.” Batman had asked John Constantine and Jason Blood to meet in one of his safe houses in the outskirts of Gotham for “a strictly confidential consultation about a child.” Bruce had prepared Clark for the meeting, explaining why they needed to come here and what to expect, but he could still sense the boy’s discomfort as the magicians emerged out of thin air.

“So, this is the child you were talking about,” said John, eyeing curiously at Clark. “Care to explain who he is?”

“I think you can tell,” said Batman.

After a brief silence, John and Jason reached their conclusion.

“No way!”

“Superman.”

“Indeed,” Batman nodded. “I want to know if there are ways to reverse the magic.”

“Is he still invulnerable?” asked John.

“Not at the moment.”

“In that case, all the ways I can think of will be too much for his body. It’s probably best to just let it run its course.”

“This is not Earth’s magic,” commented Jason as he walked in circles around Clark, who flinched slightly but remained still. “An ancient tradition, derived from the alignment of planets and stars…”

“So?”

“I agree with John, but I think the full moon may help speed up the process.”

“By how much?”

“It depends on too many different factors.”

Batman grunted.

“Do you need to talk to Etrigan too?” asked Jason.

Batman glanced at Clark’s cautious eyes, imagining his reaction if an actual demon were to appear in front of him. “I think this is enough. Thanks.”

On their ride back to the manor, now past the initial excitement about being in the Batmobile and exploring its functions, Clark sat still and silently, his face precociously pensive.

“I must be a burden to you,” he murmured eventually.

“What? No. What are you talking about?” Bruce switched to autopilot and removed his cowl, turning to properly look at Clark.

“I know you really want Superman back.” Clark bit on his lower lip and looked up at Bruce, “What if I can’t change back? Will you feel disappointed?”

In all the years Bruce had known Superman and Clark—first from the sensational _Daily Planet_ headline stories, then as a colleague and friend, and later, to his own surprise, as a lover and partner—he had been curious about Clark’s childhood. For someone who had crash-landed from an alien planet as the last of his kind, who could easily conquer this new world and rule as its god, how Clark grew up to become the most selfless, compassionate, and optimistic being Bruce had ever known continued to fascinate him.

Of course, he had met Ma Kent many times and heard her vivid stories of Clark’s childhood over a giant family album and equally giant servings of freshly baked pies. He had walked through Smallville’s rustling cornfields under starry skies and lain on piles of hay where Clark told him about his first kiss with a blush visible even in the dimness of the barn.

None of these second-hand accounts, however, came close to actually seeing Clark as a child, the familiar azure eyes and charming dimples on his cherubic face, the instinct to help and be useful to others despite his polite and shy manners. The five-year-old Clark felt so real and endearing that he only made Bruce more painfully aware of how much he had missed _his_ Clark.

“It’s not about how I feel,” Bruce answered instead. “The world needs Superman and the Justice League needs its leader. I have to bring him back, and I’ll do everything I can.”

Clark only nodded in response, with an almost solemn look on his face.

The Batmobile parked itself quietly in the cave, but neither Bruce nor Clark moved to open the door. For a while, the two of them just remained in their seats, each buried in their own thought, not speaking a word.

*

Bruce was ready to head down to the cave to get changed for patrol when he heard Clark’s small footsteps approaching in the hallway, followed by three knocks on his bedroom door.

“Come in.”

“Hi Bruce,” said Clark quietly. “I can’t sleep.”

“Alfred can get you a glass of milk, if that helps.”

Clark looked sideways and started to fidget with the hem of his pajamas. A curl of black hair fell over his forehead. “Um, I was thinking, maybe…you could read to me?” He was blushing a little, still not looking at Bruce.

“What do you want me to read?” Bruce asked while doing a quick mental calculation. Batman was scheduled to meet with Jim Gordon in thirty-two minutes. He should be able to spare twenty minutes or so if he changed in the Batmobile instead and drove faster through shortcuts.

“Anything really.” Clark’s voice became even smaller, looking back up at him with expectant eyes. _What does Clark like to read these days anyways?_ Bruce turned to the small pile of miscellaneous books that the adult Clark had kept on the nightstand for any ideas.

*

“What are you reading?” asked Bruce absentmindedly as he plodded into the bedroom in his boxers. He just returned from a grueling close-quarters fight with the Penguin’s men and his entire body was aching in protest.

“ _The Little Prince_. Have you read it?” Clark waved the colorfully illustrated cover at him.

“No I haven’t.” Bruce threw himself face down into the plush pile of down pillows and comforters, his voice muffled. “Aren’t you a bit too old for children’s book?”

Clark chuckled. “Who says children’s book can’t have depth? It’s a classic, and you have both the French and the English editions in your library.”

Bruce made a noncommittal sound. He should get up and shower but he really couldn’t get himself to. He closed his eyes. _Just ten minutes and I will get up._

“I can read some of it to you, if you’d like,” Clark reached over with one hand to caress his hair, gently massaging his scalp. It felt good.

“Hmm.”

“Here’s one of the most famous parts, also my favorite; it’s about the little prince and the fox.” As frightening and awe-inspiring as Superman sounded in front of even the most malicious and despicable foes, Clark’s gentle baritone was warm and soothing.

_“No,” said the little prince. “I am looking for friends. What does that mean—‘tame’?”_

_“It is an act too often neglected,” said the fox. “It means to establish ties.”_

_“’To establish ties’?”_

_“Just that,” said the fox. “To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world…”_

*

Clark blinked glassy eyes and struggled to keep them open as Bruce read to him. His small hand dangled outside the comforter to hold Bruce’s.

_“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”_

_“It is the time I have wasted for my rose—” said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember._

“What does it mean?” asked Clark blearily in a tiny voice.

“I think it means that…sometimes, people may spend time on someone, or something, without a clear purpose,” Bruce answered.

“Why is that?”

Bruce furrowed his brow, looking for a good explanation. “Maybe they enjoy spending time like that.”

“Are we wasting time now?”

Bruce paused. Despite the magicians’ opinions, the ambiguity of their answers still left doubts in him, especially after his conversation with Luthor. He had never been the type to simply sit out a problem, and certainly never the type to read bedtime stories to children either.

“I hope not.”

“But I like spending time with you,” said Clark as he slightly tightened the grip on Bruce’s hand.

Bruce regarded Clark’s face for a moment, the boy’s small hand warm and sure against his palm. He looked so open, so trusting, and so vulnerable. Bruce wondered how much of this easiness and affection seeped through from Clark’s subconscious as an adult, and how much was just part of his nature even as a child. He tried to imagine the consequences if any of Superman’s enemies saw him like this, and stopped himself before his mind spun out of control.

“Shall I keep reading?” he asked, without commenting on Clark’s previous remark. The boy nodded, eyes already half-close.

_“Men have forgotten this truth,” said the fox. “But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose…”_

_“I am responsible for my rose,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember._

Bruce continued reading until he heard a tiny snore. Clark was finally asleep, his chest rising and falling with each breath. There was a smile on his face. Bruce carefully pulled out his hand to brush away Clark’s cowlick from his brow, and printed a kiss on his forehead.

“Sweet dreams, my little prince.” _My fox. My rose._

Bruce placed the book on the nightstand, switched off the light, and closed the door behind him without a sound. He sprinted into the cave, jumped into the Batmobile, and floored the gas into another long night.


	7. The Tears

Clark had been running all over the manor in the past few days, practicing cartwheel with Dick, poking around the cave, and following Alfred from the kitchen to the library and to the gardens. Bruce could tell the boy was getting restless from being so cooped up, for he was also losing patience himself.

Alone in the cave, tapping the keyboard with a fervor, Bruce checked the moon phase calendar for the third time in five minutes. One week away from the full moon. He could hardly wait for the time to come sooner, but another part of him also feared its approach. What if the full moon had no effect on alien magic? He had accepted the assumption that the spell would wear off on its own, but Zatanna said she was only ninety percent certain…Bruce had always hated magic for being such a messy affair, especially when Superman was involved.

On top of that, Luthor’s words from days ago continued to gnaw at him. What did Luthor mean, when he said he believed Superman should be “otherwise occupied”? Did he know about Clark’s current state, or was he referring to something else? Bruce had already gone through the files on Luthor that he and Clark had compiled and updated over the years, but had found nothing particularly relevant.

If Luthor knew, then who told him? Before Bruce met with him, the only people who were supposed to know something about Clark’s situation were the League, Alfred, Dick, and Lois. It certainly wouldn’t be Alfred and Dick. It was very unlikely, but not entirely impossible, that Lois or a League member might have been working secretly with Luthor, unless there was somebody else…

Unless Luthor had something to do with Clark’s “accident” in the first place.

Bruce ran a cloud tag search of all his Luthor files, staring at the jumble of keywords that refused to register in his mind. The clues must be hidden somewhere, if only he knew where to look…

After a good half an hour, he sighed, swiveled in his chair, and went back upstairs.

“Clark.”

“Yes, Bruce?” Clark looked up from his book, cradling a tall glass of lemonade.

“Come downstairs. Let’s do another round of checkup.”

“Okay,” said Clark obediently, carefully closing the book and lifting himself off the couch.

Every single result still turned out disappointingly _normal_.

As soon as Bruce finished his evaluation, Clark slid off the chair and looked at him with hopeful eyes. “Bruce, Dick told me about the best burger place in Gotham. Do you think…we could all go together?”

“No.” Bruce said without hesitation.

Clark’s shoulders slumped. “But I haven’t been outside for so long!” he protested.

“You can always go out to the manor grounds. It’s big enough.”

“That’s not the same,” Clark shook his head and frowned. “I want to go out out. I haven’t even been to Gotham before!”

It was strange how Clark’s small voice resounded so loudly and almost incessantly in Bruce’s head. Blood began pounding in his ears as frustration threatened to overwhelm his mind’s more rational voice saying he should probably be more patient. How could he be, when Clark had shown no sign of recovery and kept distracting him from work? If Luthor was up to something, this could only be the beginning of their problems. Bruce needed to compartmentalize, to focus, to think, not to merely babysit a child and wait for time to pass.

“Bruce—”

“I’ve told you already,” he snapped. “There are many enemies out there who want Superman dead and gone. Your powerless five-year-old body is a security risk. It's best for you and everyone else that you stay inside the manor. Understood? Don’t be a spoiled child and don’t let me repeat myself again.” _I’d never forgive myself if anything else happened to you_ , he didn’t say.

There was a long silence.

“I’m sorry,” said Clark meekly, ducking his head.

“And I’ve told you not to apologize,” Bruce rasped. It came out harsher than he intended. Tears started to well up in Clark’s eyes. Bruce cringed.

“I—I can’t do this anymore! I don’t want this! I wanna go find Ma and Pa,” Clark stomped his little feet and sniffled. “I wanted to go home, but you told me to come stay here! I don’t even know if what you said is true! How do I know if I’m really Superman? Maybe you’re all lying to me! Maybe you’re all bad! You—you just want to kidnap me!”

He wiped his nose and face forcefully on his sleeve.

*

“I can’t do this anymore,” said Clark quietly, his voice bitter. “It hurts too much, Bruce.”

Bruce slowly opened his eyes. Through the haze of drugs he could see Clark’s silhouette sitting by his bed in the dark room. He was wearing the Superman suit, his back stiff and his eyes blazing red like flames in the mist. Bruce blinked twice. Was there a threat here? Was Clark’s anger directed at _him_? Maybe he was still hallucinating, but he hadn’t had a nightmare like this for so long…

“Can you possibly imagine what it was like for me, to fucking _read_ about your near-death horror story from a Gotham paper in Metropolis, and to pretend like it was just _another piece of news_?”

Bruce tried to process each word against the constant beeping of vital sign monitors. He felt like thinking in syrup. _Did Clark just swear?_

“It’s not that bad,” he croaked.

“ ‘It’s not that bad?’ You _flew in_ a brain surgeon from another state to operate on you! And you’re telling me it’s not that bad?” Clark’s irises were back to the beautiful blue now, but there was still so much anger and something else that Bruce couldn’t decipher at the moment.

Bruce wanted to reach out to him, but his hands were heavy as lead.

“If only you had given me your medical power of attorney! I could’ve—could’ve…” Clark stammered, choking on his words, eyes glistening. Bruce suddenly realized he had never seen this man in tears before.

“Alfred got there in time. There’s nothing to worry about,” he said eventually to appease him.

“Of course. There’s never anything for me to worry about, is there? So what am I, really? Just a journalist with no connection whatsoever to the prince of Gotham, huh? Oh don’t you give me that talk again on civilian identity and precaution—” Clark’s chest heaved as his voice raised. He leaped up to pace around the bed, the red cape billowing behind him. He was shivering all over, “—all I know is that you almost died and I couldn’t do anything to help the one person I love. I almost lost you, Bruce! What kind of precaution is it, if your paranoid insistence on control and secrecy backfires and ruins everything we cherish?”

“Clark—”

*

“Clark—”

“I don’t understand! Everyone tells me that I’m a great hero, but I’m not! I don’t know how to be one. It makes me feel so useless! I may never be Superman again and then you won’t need me, won’t want me anymore!” Clark started to shake violently, tears running down his chubby cheeks like small creeks.

Bruce knelt in front of him, cupping his face with both of his hands. “Clark…Clark, listen to me,” he whispered, trying his best to muster for words. Clark flinched slightly but didn’t pull away. His face was so tiny Bruce could almost cover it entirely.

Superman or not, Clark had always been confident and comfortable in his own power, ready to love and quick to forgive, while Bruce’s mood often took much darker turns. Clark would take his tantrums with such ease like he would any punch, waiting patiently for him to crawl out of his gloom and sometimes kissing it away. Bruce had perhaps grown too used to their dynamic, having been rebalanced whenever the scale tipped over. People didn’t usually go to Bruce for comfort, but Clark now deserved his best efforts.

“I’m sorry I…scared you.”

Clark looked at him carefully with teary eyes, sniffling and blinking with thick wet lashes. Bruce wiped his cheeks with both thumbs.

“I…care about you. I really do. I want you to know that you—I mean both Superman and the current you—are very, very important to me, and that I will never, ever give up on you. Would you…remember that for me?”

Bruce vaguely wondered at the back of his mind just how serious Clark was accusing him of kidnap, especially after seeing him working on the case. Did Clark really think that Bruce had been trying to brainwash and confine him? If so, would Clark still possibly buy Bruce’s awkward attempt at expressing his heart at all?

Before Bruce could generate more doubts, Clark made the lightest nod and then crashed into him for an embrace, arms around his neck so tight that Bruce thought he might have regained his powers somewhat. Bruce wrapped his arms in return around the small frame, combing through his soft black curls and stroking along his back.

Clark was still sniffling as he held on to him, and memories of the grown man’s choked words and glistening eyes hit Bruce again with a blunt ache. He had always brushed him off when Clark fretted over Bruce’s injuries as if he would lose him, and now it almost seemed ironic how he would worry about losing Clark instead.

“I’m sorry, Clark…I’m sorry…” he murmured the words into Clark’s hair over and over, as if to engrave them onto his own heart.


	8. The Sacrifice

Bruce ended up taking Clark along with Dick and Alfred to the burger joint for dinner the next day. They got into a black Toyota Corolla with darkly tinted windows that Bruce kept handy for occasional covert stakeouts. Alfred even purchased a car seat for Clark, who was now held snugly in place with a harness and tether and kicking his legs while humming the theme song of _The Gray Ghost_.

Bruce monitored Clark and Dick from the rear view mirror in the passenger seat while Alfred drove. Even restrained in his car seat, Clark tried his best to turn towards the window with one hand splaying against the glass. Faint light and shadow alternated on his face as his eyes fixed on Gotham’s buildings that were quickly receding behind them one after another.

“Dick! Did you see that gargoyle just now?” Clark twisted his head in the vain hope of catching another sight but gave up when his nose bumped into the side of his seat.

“There are so many gargoyles in Gotham!” Dick enthused. “My favorite one is on the old Wayne Tower. Not many people know about it because it’s in the middle of the building, so you can’t see it from anywhere unless you’re flying right above it. I’ve already seen it six times though. I think Bruce’s great-great grandfather put it there.”

“Wow.” Gaping at Dick, Clark seemed to have already forgotten about the view outside.

“My great-great grandfather Alan built the old tower,” Bruce explained, “but it was actually his son Henry, my great grandfather, who installed that particular gargoyle.”

“Isn’t that so cool?” Dick then shifted into a dramatic hushed tone, “Gotham is full of secrets.” He glanced outside and his voice brightened up again: “And look! On your right! That’s the Gotham City Police Headquarters. Commissioner Gordon is a friend of Batman’s. He asks us for help _all the time_.”

When they finally arrived at the burger joint, it was fairly crowded inside, which was both good and bad. Good that with their t-shirts, hoodies, and jeans, the four of them could easily blend in with other groups of family. Bad that with so many pairs of eyes and cell phones around, one never knew who might be watching or recording. Bruce scanned the environment twice before getting a booth where he could maintain a good view of the entire space and remained on alert as they sat down.

“This really is the best burger,” Clark announced as he swallowed a big mouthful of thick beef patty with dripping cheese, eyes narrowing with satisfaction.

Dick flashed a toothy, I-told-you grin. He had sauce at the corners of his mouth. “Wait until you try their vanilla custard milkshake.”

“Do you really not want some of my fries, Alfred?”

“Thank you, Master Clark. I’m afraid I’ve had too much salad already.”

Bruce finished the bean and mushroom burger in front of him in a few efficient bites. He sipped his iced black coffee while watching Clark dipping the fries into the milkshake and stuffing them one by one into his mouth with wide-eyed wonder.

“Nobody moves!” Bruce jerked up at the sound, spotting five black-clad masked men, each holding a gun. How did he not see them entering? He cursed himself for being distracted just now.

Not quite heeding the armed men, the customers started screaming and scrambling to crouch below the tables. Some children began to cry and shriek. Two of the robbers were now demanding cash at the cashier while the other three pointed their guns in different directions for crowd control.

Bruce exchanged a look and a nod with Alfred and Dick, already calculating his route to disarm the robbers without drawing attention to himself. As he crouched down to make his first move, however, one of the men turned his way. The man walked over and gestured to him with a pistol. “You. Stay where you are.”

A Glock 26 9mm Gen 4, likely secondhand. Small for conceal carry, generic, but nonetheless lethal at the current distance between Bruce and the gunman. Even with his mask on, the man looked and sounded young. He also seemed to be shaking a little, which meant either he could be quite easily dissuaded or he might act very impulsively.

Bruce stood up still and slowly raised both hands, “Of course.”

The man inched closer, still aiming the pistol at Bruce. “Kid,” he nodded to the seat behind Bruce and beckoned, “Yeah, you. Come over here.”

Bruce swallowed hard as the man grabbed Clark by his small arm, shifted his gunpoint to the boy’s head, and retreated gingerly out of Bruce’s reach. There weren’t any viable strategies at the moment that wouldn’t expose their identities or risk someone getting shot. However reluctant, Bruce had to be patient.

The robbers bagged their requested cash and began walking out the door, still holding Clark hostage. The moment the door closed behind them, Bruce turned to his ashen-faced butler and ward: “Alfred, take Dick home with you.”

“No! I want to help, Bruce. Please, let me.” Dick also stood up, pleading in a low voice.

Bruce regarded him for a second and decided not to waste time arguing. “Fine. Let’s move.”

Bruce and Dick quickly changed in the car while Alfred switched on the reconfigured touchscreen to remotely access the core functions of the Batcomputer. In a matter of seconds they obtained Clark’s current location from the tracker hidden in his clothes. The robbers didn’t escape far. Coordinates showed that they took Clark to a run-down mid-nineteenth century building ten blocks to the east.

Alfred dropped them off in a dark alley one block away from the building. Batman and Robin grappled onto the fire escape stairs outside the top floor where their 3D locator showed Clark was kept. Peeking through the window, Batman scanned the dimly lit room with his night vision lenses.

Now without the masks, the robbers all appeared to be in their twenties at most. Clark sat quietly in the far left corner of the room while one of them—unarmed—watched over him. He looked so small and harmless they didn’t even bother to tie him up. Batman felt reassured to see that there weren’t any visible injuries on his body or traces of tears on his face.

The rest of the gang were counting their loot on a stained rag rug in the middle of the room, smoking cigarettes and chatting loudly.

“So what do we do with the kid?”

“I don't know. Why did we need a hostage at all?”

“Don’t ask me! Gary did it.”

“I…I’ve seen people do it in movies. It worked, right? They gave us all the money and no one followed us.”

“They would’ve given us the money anyways, you stupid fuck! And who the fuck believes in movies? Are you three years old or something?”

“We should’ve got rid of him earlier. Could’ve shot him, or at least left him on the street.”

“But…it’d be bad to leave him just like that. How would his family find him?”

“Frank, if you ever let your retarded brother join us for anything ever again, I’ll fucking blow your brains out. You hear me?”

Batman’s gaze turned to the door on the far right. Next to it, all of the robbers’ weapons were stashed together on a shelf, a weakness that the he could soon exploit. He and Robin sneaked into the empty room next door through another window. Checking that the door to their destination wasn’t locked, Batman kicked it open with a loud bam and sprinted inside in a whoosh of cape.

While Robin guarded the shelf by the door to ensure no one would get close to the guns, Batman took advantage of the gang’s initial shock and neutralized the four men scrambling to stand up with two tranquillizer darts and two precisely landed uppercuts to the chins. Robin immediately followed to truss them up.

Batman turned to the open window to find the last standing man, who was panting and shaking in panic. The man grabbed Clark’s t-shirt collar and threateningly pushed his upper body outside the edge of the window: “Don’t—don't come any closer! Or I’ll push him down! I mean it! Back off!”

Another tranquillizer dart incapacitated the frantic man, but Clark faltered and screamed when the hand on his collar went limp. The moment he fell out of the window, Batman and Robin leaped forward simultaneously.

In the split of a second, Batman grabbed the two boys in his arms and began their free-fall together.

While holding onto the two of them, he aimed his grappling hook again at the fire escape staircase, looking for some kind of purchase. The hook landed on the handrail with a loud clunk and stayed in place.

As the acceleration of gravity pulled relentlessly at his right arm and shoulder, Batman heard a crack of joint before feeling a lightning of sharp pain, but he held on with single-minded conviction. He readied himself to brace for impact as they swung towards the building and grunted as he slammed against its brick exterior with a solid thump. The three of them were now in a precarious position, swaying back and forth on a single rope like a giant pendulum.

“Br—Batman!” Clark cried.

“Let me go, Batman!” Robin implored. “We’re only a few feet up now. It won’t be the highest jump for me.”

“No…” Batman grated his teeth and tightened his hold, “I can’t…risk…”

He could feel his arm muscles throbbing with numbing pain. They were still quite high above the ground and there was no way either Dick or Clark could go down safely on their own. If he could hold on just a bit longer, the pedestrians would have enough time to react and catch the boys from below.

The metal above him squeaked ominously. Before he could do anything more than angling his body to aim for the canopy and turning onto his back to cushion the boys, the handrail gave way and they started falling again.

He heard a crash. The pain in his arm now felt so distant as if he no longer had a body. The sky, the buildings, and the pavement were all in a whirling frenzy as he tried to sit up. He heard people’s voices. Screams. Gasps. Murmurs. He heard police cars and ambulances approaching with shrieking sirens. He heard tires screeching sharply as a car skidded to a stop near him, followed by a familiar British accent.

He tried to get to his feet again, but a small hand rested on his shoulder and stopped his futile attempts. “It’s fine now, Batman.” It was Robin’s voice. “Let us take care of the rest.”


	9. The Recovery

Bruce squinted against the bright sunlight as he opened his eyes, feeling slightly dizzy. Judging from the shade on the floor, it should already be afternoon time.

“Good afternoon, Master Bruce,” greeted Alfred, confirming his observation.

“Alfred. How are the boys?”

“A bit shaken, but otherwise unharmed,” said Alfred while helping Bruce sit up in bed. “Master Clark is taking a nap and Master Dick has gone to school as usual.”

“Last night…did everything go well afterwards?

“It went as well as could be expected. Robin was great help, and all identities—secret or not—remained intact.”

Bruce smiled: “Dick is improving every day.”

“Yes, but I should remind you that he is still only twelve years old. Master Clark’s situation had already made him feel that he needed to step up more. Seeing you getting injured again wasn’t easy for him.”

“I know I haven’t been around much for him lately. I’ll do better.”

Alfred handed him a mug of chamomile tea. “That would be great, but you need to take care of yourself first. You have a dislocated shoulder, some tears of the ulnar collateral ligament, and a mild concussion. Some may say you are quite lucky given the height of your fall.”

Bruce glanced at the elbow brace on his right arm. “I’ve had much worse than this,” he tried to brush it off, knowing the inevitable that was coming next.

“I must insist mandatory bed rest for a day, sir. You know the rules. There won’t be any exceptions.”

“I’ve already slept for half a day,” he protested.

“All the easier to make it through the rest of the day, then. I will be happy to watch over Gotham in your place tonight.”

Bruce groaned. “At least let me do some casework here.”

“By rest I mean both physically _and_ mentally, sir.”

“Or I can catch up on the Wayne Enterprises quarterly reports. Those are hardly any mental work,” Bruce tried again before adding quickly, “and I promise to sleep some more.”

Alfred sighed. “Don’t take my acceptance as approval.”

*

“Shall we hurry? Alfred’s not gonna be happy if he sees us like this,” said Clark as he stepped off the telepad with Bruce and walked towards the cave’s medical bay.

“Sit down and face your left.” Bruce took out the equipment from the cabinet while Clark’s suit shifted and slid like liquid around his wounds. His right arm was embedded with Kryptonite shrapnel, a dozen shards glimmering with a sickly green light against raw, bloody flesh.

Bruce held the tweezers as steadily as he could, ignoring the pain on his own body. Clark hissed as the tips of the tweezers closed around a particularly large and sharp piece. Bruce slowly pulled it out and dropped it into a small metal tray with a clang. He wasn’t proud of his growing collection of Kryptonite fragments like this.

“Ah,” Clark let out a deep breath, “don’t tell the others, but it still hurts like hell every single time.”

“I know,” said Bruce. He saturated a gauze pad with saline solution, rinsing clean any minuscule shards still left inside, and then pulled over the UV sun lamp to concentrate on the arm. “Done.”

“Thank you,” Clark patted the space next to him. “Now it’s your turn.”

Bruce removed his outer armor and let Clark zipped open the undersuit, exposing his wounds around the left shoulder blade. The shape of the undamaged skin there likely matched that of Clarks’ arm, as Superman shielded him the last second Batman tried to push _him_ out of the blast radius. Clark only needed to remove two pieces of Kryptonite from him before dabbing another soaked gauze pad on the open flesh. There was a familiar sting as he injected a small amount of lidocaine next to the worst cut to dull the nerves.

Clark applied skin glue to the smaller wounds while waiting for the anesthetic to take effect. “You know, with all the high-tech stuff your company develops, maybe they could work on a good scar gel,” he commented. Bruce numbly felt the insertion of the needle followed by slight friction as Clark pulled the thread through his skin.

“I thought you liked the scars.”

“I do,” Clark tugged the thread a bit more tightly to make a knot and snipped off the rest. Bruce shuddered instinctively when he left a kiss on the good skin right next to the stitched wound, so softly as if only his cool breath was touching. “But I’d rather not see more of it.”

At a low beeping alert, Bruce looked to the monitors, where a screen showed the wrought iron gates closing behind a black sedan. “Alfred is back with Dick now. Let’s clean up.”

*

“Bruce!” Clark yelled as he dashed into the bedroom, his hair still a bit disheveled from the nap. “You’re awake! How are you feeling?” He reached out wanting to touch the elbow brace, but withdrew his hand mid-action as if afraid of hurting Bruce.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” Leaning against the headboard, Bruce put down the report on his lap and lifted both arms slightly to prove his point, but Clark didn’t look too reassured.

“May I stay here with you? I promise I’ll be quiet.”

“Sure, but I’ll just be reading here. It won’t be very interesting.”

“I can read with you. Let me go get my book.” He ran out and returned with _The Little Prince_ in his hand. “I found out that you only read me the later parts of the book, so I started from the beginning. I’m already at chapter eight now,” he explained, not without pride, but not nearly as enthusiastically as his usual.

Bruce scooted over as Clark climbed onto the other side of the bed and sat next to him. The comfortable silence that he had used to share with the adult Clark almost returned for a moment, with only the occasional sound of turning pages. They kept reading until Alfred knocked on the door and came in with a tray carrying a bowl of steaming minestrone soup with a side salad and some crusty sourdough. “Your dinner, Master Bruce.”

Dick followed Alfred from behind. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said, looking at the report held in Bruce’s hand.

“You did well last night.” Bruce patted his shoulder as Dick perched carefully on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you, Bruce,” the older boy squeezed out a smile. “I wish I could do more to help.”

“You did what you were supposed to do and more. I’m proud to see your training has paid off,” said Bruce. Clark squirmed next to him but remained quiet.

Dick rubbed the back of his neck, his smile wider and more genuine this time. “Do you mind if I eat here with you? And maybe Clark, too?”

“Not at all.”

“I will be right back.” Alfred soon returned with a larger tray, which also contained two slices of apple pie with generous dollops of whipped cream for dessert. Clark’s face brightened at the sight, but as Dick chatted with Bruce about his day at school, the small boy ate in secluded silence, broken only by the clink of silverware against china. Bruce could tell that something was bothering him.

By the time Alfred took the trays away and Dick went back to his room to do homework, it was already getting dark. Clark curled up against the headboard, hugging himself close and rested his chin on his knees. He followed Bruce’s gaze to the French window as Bruce glanced outside at the moon—still not completely round but getting close. Silence stretched out between them.

Bruce leaned over the nightstand to retrieve his laptop. Alfred would probably spend the entire evening at the cave, so he could continue working on the abduction case here without getting caught. Instead of trying to run facial recognition on the suspects, he fed the three boys’ photos into the AI to search for any similar faces from all of Gotham’s street camera footage around their times of disappearance. Waiting for the results, he tapped his fingers impatiently against the touchpad when Clark finally spoke up: “I shouldn’t have asked to go outside.”

Bruce looked up from his laptop. “It was my fault that I couldn't protect you,” he said softly. “You were very brave last night.”

Clark shook his head. “Dick was very brave. I didn’t do anything,” he sighed deeply. “If I were Superman, those bad guys wouldn’t have taken me. And you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. I was really scared. I thought you were going to die, and—” he sniffled once, “—and it would be all my fault.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Bruce ruffled his hair. “I’m still here. Everything’s fine.”

Clark didn't look at him. “When will I return to normal?”

“It may take some more time. Be patient,” Bruce responded, also saying it to himself.

Clark nodded before turning his gaze to the laptop screen. Snapshots of the boys’ pixelated faces began popping up in the database, many of them indicating the same location—a warehouse in a dilapidated industrial zone. “Are you still working on the same case?”

“Yes. These are the children who were taken.”

Clark quickly inhaled: “Are they okay?”

“They are all safe now, but I’ll need to catch the criminals.”

“Do you mean the bad guys from last night?”

“No. Those were just robbers, and they had already been caught and handed to the police. They took you hostage, but they weren’t behind these other abductions.”

“I see,” Clark stared at the screen intently.


	10. The Heroes

“—So then I said to Mr. Henderson, I know Tkachev salto is a challenge for every gymnast, but I’ve been doing somersaults since I was a baby! And if I’ve tried it at home, I should be allowed to show it to others at the gym, right? But he just gave me this really stern look and—” Dick had been wanting to vent about his gymnastics practice today and was relieved to finally get into Alfred’s car on his way home. It was drizzling outside and the traffic was slower than usual. He propped up his feet on the headrest of the passenger’s seat and wrapped himself in the comfort of the white noise and the warmth from the AC.

“Dick,” Bruce suddenly called through the comm system. Dick jolted and sat up straight: “Yeah Bruce?”

“Get in your uniform now. Another boy has been kidnapped. I’m already following their track. Alfred, take Dick to the coordinates I just shared with you.”

“Of course,” said Alfred as he spun the steering wheel to make a U-turn. “Have you notified the police?”

“Not yet. I’ll let you know when it’s the right time.”

“Very well, sir.”

“After you drop off Dick, head back to the cave. Clark doesn’t know I’m gone yet.”

“Certainly. We are already on our way and the ETA is seven minutes,” Alfred answered as he stepped harder on the gas.

“Yes! I’ve been looking forward to this mission,” Dick exulted as he zipped up his Robin vest. “We’re going to kick some serious ass this time!”

“Just be careful, Master Dick.”

Robin joined Batman outside an abandoned warehouse. Batman seemed to have already finished reconnaissance, as he led them straight through the main door. Robin was hit by the musty smell as he entered the room, where a few candles were glowing weakly against the shadows. There were three makeshift beds in a corner. One looked significantly smaller than the others, and sitting on it was a threadbare teddy bear and a toy plane that looked like a hundred shatter pieces had been glued back together.

The rain had grown heavier, leaking through the cracks from the roof on the other side of the room, water pooling on the floor and crawling near the beds. Batman and Robin swung up to the mezzanine for cover when a man and a woman entered with a small boy, all wearing wide-brimmed hats despite the rain.

“Danny…Mama and papa got it wrong the last few times. How silly we were! We thought those other boys were you! But don’t worry…we’re together now, and we even have the money!” The woman babbled softly and almost singingly, but her movement was unrelenting as she shoved the boy into one of the beds. The man—probably her husband—picked up the hat fallen from the boy’s head before removing the woman’s and his own, carefully stacking them up and placing them in the corner.

“We can go back to the hospital now! And you’ll be okay! Isn’t that wonderful, Danny? Isn’t it? Come on! Come give mama a hug!” She grabbed the collar of the boy, who struggled to break free while screaming: “No…no! I—I’m not Danny! You’re wrong! Please…please let me go!” The boy’s brown eyes widened with fear as the man approached him with a rope.

Robin readied himself to grapple down with Batman when Alfred spoke through the commlink with urgency. “Sir, sorry to disturb you, but I just returned to the manor and Master Clark is missing.”

Robin looked to Batman. He could sense the brief moment of panic on Bruce’s face even hidden behind the cowl and the lenses. The warehouse door suddenly swung open, candlelight flickering precariously as cold, humid draft blew in. Robin shivered.

“Let him go! You heard him! He’s not Danny!” a bright voice cut through the rush and roar of the rain. The voice sounded too familiar to Robin.

“Later, Cave,” said Batman, his voice strained and body tense as Clark dashed across the room to stand right in front of the couple.

The woman let go of the collar in her hands and stumbled towards Clark instead. “You…you’re right! Oh my gosh, how could we be wrong again? Danny, mama’s so sorry! We’ve been so worried about you…”

“I’m not Danny either! Leave us alone!” Clark wrapped protective arms around the other boy, his wet black curls plastered to his forehead.

“How can you not be? You look and sound just like him! Come on Danny, stop playing games with us!” A lightning struck, the woman’s pale face torn like a gnarling ghost mask, her desperate voice drown in the rolling thunders.

“No!” yelled Clark.

Robin saw from the corner of his eyes that Batman’s fingers tightened around a batarang, ready to strike.

“Come here! Come hug mama and papa!” The woman inched closer with an eerily toothy smile, her arms stretching open.

“No! Please! Stop!” Another blinding flash of lightning cracked outside the window, illuminating Clark’s bright blue eyes as he pleaded. Before the batarang left Batman’s hand, however, the woman stopped dead and suddenly crumpled to the ground. Her husband hurried to her side, kneeling right next to her shaking body.

The thunder rumbled, and in its faint echoes the woman spoke again, weak and sobbing. “You…you’re not him either. You’re not Danny…My Danny has the warmest hazel eyes…He’s sweet as honey. He was…he was…”

“Cave, call the police to our location. Clark is also safe with us here,” said Batman under his breath before grappling down from the mezzanine. Robin followed right behind him, hearing Alfred answer: “Right away, sir.”

They didn't even need to fight, realized Robin with both relief and slight disappointment. Upon seeing the Batman, the man simply helped up his trembling wife and hugged her close, not moving one bit after that.

“I—I’m sorry…My wife has been like this since we lost our son…She keeps grabbing any boy she sees that looks like him. I thought if we could at least get some money, I could help her, and maybe give her a better life…” the man covered his face with one palm, the back of his hand rough and his nails dirty and unkempt. “She doesn’t deserve this…Danny didn’t deserve this…”

“I’m really sorry for your loss,” said Batman, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder, “but it doesn’t justify the abductions.”

The man shook his head with a bitter smile, “No, it doesn’t.”

Batman stood with the couple as Robin sat with Clark and the other boy on the bed. They were in utter silence until the police cars approached with crescendoing sirens. “I’ll take all of them to Commissioner Gordon. You take Clark back to the car and wait for me there,” instructed Batman quietly. Robin nodded.

There were only two seats in the Batmobile, so Robin put Clark on his lap and fastened the seatbelt around them. They were both soaked with rain at this point, so he turned up the heat while they waited for Batman. He tried to listen in on Batman’s conversation with Commissioner Gordon through the commlink, but the rain mixed with the police siren and other noises made it difficult to capture it fully.

“…mother should probably go to a mental hospital… six-year-old son Danny …cancer…had no money...” said Batman.

The commissioner heaved a sigh loud enough to be clearly audible: “You’d think that…twenty-first-century America…would be denied treatment…”

Dick tore off his domino mask. With the culprits captured and delivered to the police, their mission should have been called successful, but he didn’t feel any pride or excitement. Quite the opposite, his heart sank as he thought back about what happened. Bruce didn’t look too happy, either. His lips thinned into a grim line as he sank heavily into the driver’s seat and yanked off his cowl.

Switching on autopilot, Bruce asked: “Are you two okay?”

“Yes,” Dick and Clark answered, one after another.

Bruce absentmindedly wiped off the water on his face before he demanded, “How did you even get there, Clark?”

“I…I was hiding in the car. Behind your seat.”

Bruce turned to glance at the cramped space behind him and shook his head in exasperated disbelief. “What were you thinking about? I told you to stay in the manor and be safe.”

“I’m sorry…I was just trying to help.”

“Yes, you were _trying to help_ ,” repeated Bruce, huffing heavily through the nose.

For a moment, Dick’s shoulders tensed as he thought Bruce’s brewing anger was going to boil over. Dick had actually seen him in rage maybe twice before, when he and Clark fought in front of him. They were pretty scary like that, arguing over Clark being haste, Bruce being paranoid, doing things the wrong way, or trying to save each other when they shouldn’t, although they both apologized to him afterwards. Dick relaxed into his seat when Bruce took a deep breath and said nothing more this time.

When the Batmobile finally returned to the cave and the doors hissed open, Bruce simply stormed off, water dripping off his cape and leaving a long trail on the floor.

Clark was shivering a little on his lap, so Dick gave him a hug from behind. “I think you were a hero tonight,” he murmured, “but we were really worried about you, you know? Things could’ve gone really bad if they had guns or something.”

Feeling Clark nodding against his chest, he held him a bit more tightly. Superman would do this to him, sometimes, after a mission that turned out more stressful for Robin than they had expected. Dick kind of missed that hug right now.

Alfred came to them with a stack of fluffy towels. The two of them finally got out of the Batmobile and let Alfred dry them like a pair of wet puppies.


	11. The Full Moon

“They say Gotham is full of criminals, as if that’s what they were born as, but I disagree. Many of them just didn't have the best life to make the wisest choices. Maybe their families never had much money. Maybe they never finished high school. Maybe they couldn't find a single job that paid well enough. Or maybe they happened to run with the wrong crowd.

“These people have potential. There is still good in them, still hope for a better life, for themselves and their families. They are the reason we decided to open the Wayne Adult Education Center, where any willing adult can receive professional training and, upon successful completion, be guaranteed a job at Wayne Enterprises or other participating partners. Together, we will get them back on their feet in jobs they can be proud of, with employers that will take care of them personally.”

Bruce looked down numerous times during the speech as if he couldn't finish it without the script on the podium, and grinned widely when flashlights overwhelmed him. The well-dressed elites of Gotham society clapped politely and some people even cared enough for a standing ovation. He would make sure to talk to them afterwards, to see if they would be interested in making a donation.

The flow of champagne and canapés resumed after his speech. Bruce greeted representatives from partner organizations, donors, and journalists while avoiding a few ambitious young women and men trying to get close and make advances. When he finally excused himself and escaped to the empty balcony on the opposite side of the Wayne Enterprises banquet hall, he saw a familiar lone figure leaning against the rail.

“Lovely speech, Mr. Wayne,” smiled the spectacled man in a grey suit. For once, he actually wore something nice to Bruce’s standard. It made him look younger and even more handsome than usual.

“Thank you. We’ve met before, right? You’re—”

“Clark Kent, _Daily Planet_ ,” the man extended his hand. He might have rolled his eyes a bit, but it was hard to see very clearly in the dark.

“Yes, Mr. Kent!” Bruce caught his hand and shook lightly. “I very much hope you’ll say something nice about our new project in your paper.”

“I can’t promise anything, but I do think your words tonight have touched people, Bru—Mr. Wayne.” Clark stuttered as Bruce leaned closer and started drawing tiny circles at the back of his hand with his thumb. He still smelled faintly of Bruce’s aftershave from the morning.

Bruce smiled, “Words, huh? Those are probably the only things I’m good at.”

*

Bruce sat behind his desk and examined the profiles of the man and the woman from last night. Carlos and Maria Suarez, undocumented immigrants who lost their jobs during the recent economic stagnation and soon became homeless afterwards. When their son Danny was diagnosed with brain tumor, it was already at late stage. The young boy didn’t have any health insurance since he didn’t even have a social security number to begin with, and his parents didn’t have enough money for treatment—the initial tests already drained their meager cash savings.

Bruce made a note to help the couple avoid deportation and follow up when they finished serving their sentences. Carlos was right—they didn’t deserve this. It had been Batman’s mission to rid Gotham of crime, but when so much of it arose from desperation, he needed to try harder to address the root of the problem. What Batman and Bruce Wayne had done wasn’t enough. It would perhaps never be enough.

There were three knocks on the door before blue eyes peeked through the slit of the door. “Bruce? Alfred said you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, Clark. Come in and sit down.”

The boy walked into the study almost cautiously. Bruce stood up to sit in one of the armchairs by the window and gestured him towards the other one.

“I want to talk to you about last night.”

“I—I’m sorry about last night,” Clark said quickly, looking so small in the tall chair.

“There’s a reason that I asked you to stay inside the manor. I promised I’d keep you safe, but I can’t keep that promise if you don’t listen to me.”

Clark lowered his head, his shoulders slumping. “I just…didn’t want you to get hurt again, and…I was really scared when I was taken away. I didn’t want it to happen to more kids.”

Bruce sighed. “I understand, but you have to think about the condition you’re in. You’ll help more people when you become Superman again.”

Clark nodded as he stared at the Persian rug, fingers twitching around the hem of his t-shirt. “You’ve been really nice to me, but all I brought you was trouble,” his voice was a little broken.

“That’s not true,” said Bruce, mustering for words. “I’m…glad to have you here. You’re important to me.”

“You’re important to me, too,” Clark whispered.

The sky had turned into a soft palette of orange, pink, and purple, painting everything inside the room with pastel colors. “The full moon is tonight,” Bruce observed.

Clark sat up straight: “Does it mean I can turn back soon?”

“I guess we’ll see.”

*

Bruce went to check on Clark later in the evening. Alfred had left the table lamps dim and the curtains open, so he could now see the full moon shining above lush woods, silvery light casting pale oblongs on the dark wooden floor.

Clark was sitting in bed against the pillows, “I don’t know if I should still go to sleep tonight.”

“You can if you want to.”

“Will you stay here with me?”

“Of course.”

Scooting over to one side and puffing the pillows, Clark made room for Bruce to sit down next to him and then remained silent. For a few times, he drew in a quick breath, seeming to want to say something, but exhaled deeply afterwards as if he couldn't bring himself to. The air grew heavy between them after a while, until he finally turned to Bruce: “Dick said the other day that you and Superman were his dads.”

“Did he?” Bruce asked, trying to sound casual.

“Are you together, like Ma and Pa?”

Bruce’s heart skipped a beat. He considered his options. It wasn’t convenient that Clark had lost his memories of their relationship, but at the same time Bruce was relieved that he hadn’t needed to discuss it with the little boy either. Deciding that he shouldn’t lie about it now that Clark had asked, Bruce said eventually: “I guess you could put it that way.”

“Oh,” Clark blushed and fell in silence again. Bruce had an urge to brush away the stubborn strand of curls falling again over his forehead, but stalled at the potential inappropriateness of any physical contact in the context of their conversation.

“So you and Superman are in love,” Clark concluded.

“Yes.”

“And for how long?”

“More than seven years now.” Bruce answered, feeling a strange sense of detachment as he explained his relationship to the very person he was in it with.

He suddenly realized that he had never spoken out loud to anyone else about this subject. Clark might have told his mother and Lois, but Alfred just accepted their _thing_ as it evolved over time with no questions asked, and by the time he adopted Dick, Clark was already acting like the other parent. The rest of the world shouldn't even know of their relationship, although Bruce suspected some of the League members might have already had their guesses.

“Seven years!” Clark gasped in astonishment. “Are you married, then?”

“No, we’re not.”

“Why not?”

 _Because marriage is a mere social construct. An especially risky one to covet, for those in our line of work with too many enemies and too few loved ones we could afford to lose._ “We just never got around to do that,” he explained lightly instead.

Clark frowned, “But I think if I _really_ love someone, I’ll want to marry that person.” His face was all earnest belief.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Bruce murmured, staring into the moonlit grounds.

He and Clark were already everything but in name. Wasn’t that enough, having the sanctuary of intimacy only to themselves, the quick exchange of glances during battles they alone understood?

Had he only been nothing else but Gotham’s prodigal son, he would probably have readily come out and provided endless fodder to the tabloids with his seemingly reckless marriage to a farm-boy-turned-Metropolis-journalist. But he wasn’t. With Batman and Superman working so closely together these days, any public and permanent record of Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent being more than passing acquaintances could be dangerously compromising.

And he had always been unwilling to lower his guard, to cede control. It had been ingrained in him probably long before he even became Batman. If he really looked into himself, in a rare private moment like this, he had been afraid, deep down, of needing and wanting, of being weak and hurt again like the boy once standing helplessly and hopelessly alone in that dark alley, shivering and shaking.

“Will you marry me when I turn back, Bruce?”

Bruce’s head snapped around to stare at Clark, “W—what?”

“Will you?”

“I…” Bruce felt his heart picking up rhythm, his blood thundering in his ears. He never backed down from the worst of his enemies, but at the moment he felt alarm growing almost palpable in his mouth and his first instinct—unbelievably—was to escape. _You don’t have to deal with this._ _Get up. Get out. Leave. Now._

Then he saw the look on Clark’s small round face, a kaleidoscope of innocence, shyness, love, and sincerity with a pinch of trepidation and _so much_ hope—sheer and raw, untempered with the kind of casualness and alacrity that the grown man had learned to cloak himself with, when he knew Bruce wouldn’t react well to the things he was going to do or say.

So much hope.

Bruce couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. Heart thumping fast, he took a deep breath as if to jump off a skyscraper without his grappling hook. “—Yes. Yes I will, Clark.”

“You promise?” A dazzling smile blossomed on the boy’s face, lighting up his impossibly blue eyes that almost glowed iridescent under the moonlight.

“I promise.” Bruce looked into these eyes, unwavering. _Blue. Like sapphire._

“Pinky promise?” Clark held out his little finger. His hand looked tiny in comparison to Bruce’s.

Bruce locked their pinkies together and shook once: “Pinky promise.” Clark seemed very satisfied with the answer. He inched closer to Bruce and nuzzled his arm, his breath soft against his skin. Soon enough, eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones, Clark dozed off.

Bruce was planning to stay awake for the entire night to monitor any effect of the full moon on Clark, but exhaustion from his concussion began to crest over him. His eyelids were getting heavier by the minute. Clark was still a child. If nothing happened tonight, he should probably ask Jason Blood again, to take a look at the situation. He should also continue investigating Luthor’s activities, and after that, maybe review all his contingency plans…

Before he could do any of these things, Bruce drifted off.


	12. The Return

Bruce jerked awake with a deadly weight on his chest. He blinked slowly to register a full-sized Kryptonian draping one arm possessively on top of him and gloriously naked among a scattering lot of tattered clothes. Moving slightly, he tried to extricate his limbs.

“Mmph?” Clark opened his eyes, disheveled and disoriented.

“Hello, Clark.” Bruce was responded with a soft, drowsy smile as Clark withdrew his arm and rolled off farther to the side.

Clark sat up and stretched his muscles, his toned body almost gleaming with a golden sheen under the bright morning sunlight as if Michelangelo had once sculpted with flesh and bone. “Morning Bruce,” he flexed his hands and then his arms almost tentatively, “It’s good to be back.” He then leaned over to carefully touch Bruce’s elbow brace with his fingertips: “How are you feeling?”

“You know it’s nothing.” Bruce reached out with his left hand to lace their fingers together, the real, intimate connection an undeniable proof of Clark’s return. A rush of relief washed over him. “How are _you_ feeling? Is everything back to normal?”

Bruce watched Clark switch on and off his heat vision with a quick flare of red irises, close his eyes to focus on different sounds near and far, and float barely an inch above the mattress before sinking back in. Clark went through each of his newly reclaimed powers as meticulously and lovingly as Bruce examined his utility belt before every mission.

“As _normal_ as I’ve ever been able to be,” Clark smiled again, winning a half-snort-half-chuckle from Bruce.

“Good. How about…your memories?” Bruce heard himself ask.

“All intact, I think,” Clark tilted his head as if evaluating and then added softly, “including my memories as the child.”

“The League has been waiting for your status update. I’ll—” Bruce stammered in shivers as Clark gently pinned him down and left a trail of kisses along the side of his jaw, breathing long-missed warmth against his skin.

“I haven’t properly thanked you for saving the little me so many times, and you’re still thinking about League business?” Clark’s eyes were now glinting with mischief, his hand already wiggling down under Bruce’s waistband to caress the obvious straining bulge.

Bruce swallowed hard. He took a deep breath, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. “At least let me send a message to everybody. We’ll also need to figure out when to convene at the Watchtower. The League decided back then it wouldn't make sense to hold the after action review without you.”

Clark raised both hands in mock surrender, rocking slightly while straddling him, his own unclothed erection a defiant challenge.

“The meeting is scheduled this afternoon at five,” Bruce typed quickly with one hand before adding matter-of-factly, “and I told them I’d be busy conducting some follow-up exams on you for the next—” he smirked, “—two hours.” He dropped the phone back on the nightstand with a thud.

“You’d better get on with it, then.” Clark closed the distance between them once again, licking and nipping Bruce’s lower lip, teasing.

Bruce smiled as their heated breaths mingled and quickened. He swiftly caught Clark’s left ankle with his good hand and hooked his left leg over Clark’s. With a jolt of hip, he flipped Clark over on his back, leaving him gasp in surprise. He chuckled, grabbing Clark’s hair and kissing him more deeply until Clark let out a low and strangled moan. Pressed against his lover’s warmth and hardness, Bruce let himself get lost in the wet, white-hot passion, as if nothing else mattered in this world.

*

Having always insisted that they arrive at slightly different times, Batman showed up at the Watchtower right when Superman was about to start the meeting after a quick round of greetings, hugs, and chit-chat with other League members.

“Thank you everyone for stepping in for me while I was gone, especially to Diana, J’onn, and Bruce. It’s good to be back to my normal self,” Superman said, smiling at his teammates. Batman only used his real name with the League in private, in case anyone might overhear it during missions.

“It’s commendable that we repelled the Qhognas efficiently and effectively without real damage to our forces. There are a few lessons, however, that we could draw from this mission, and I believe Bruce is ready to share them with us.”

Batman went through his prepared list of items, ranging from alternative tactical formations to improve defense in action, to an upgrade of Watchtower’s surveillance and alarm systems for its surrounding environment.

“Following up on the Qhognas,” said Green Lantern, “I did some snooping back at Oa about them. The portal really wasn’t their doing. It could’ve been opened from our side.”

Batman nodded, adding the new information to his mental puzzle as he reshuffled all the relevant pieces. A portal, possibly opened from here. The Watchtower, in low earth orbit. Aliens, looking disoriented and scared. Luthor, commenting on the new gamma ray projectors and Superman.

Suddenly, everything fell into place. Of course. The truth had been hidden in plain sight all this time. Batman’s heart sped up with the familiar thrill of being on the verge of discovery, adrenaline coursing through his veins. “I’ve got a theory, but I need more evidence. I’ll be in touch,” he said, standing up and ready to head out.

“Anything else before we conclude the meeting?” asked Superman. After a brief pause, he stood up as well. “Good. Thanks everybody. That’s all.”

When Bruce and Clark teleported back to the cave, Dick was waiting by the monitors, doing homework.

“Clark! You’re back!” Dick sprinted to Clark and leaped up to hug him tightly with all four limbs like a koala on a tree. “I’ve missed you,” he added quietly.

Clark laughed, wrapping his arms around the boy and patting him lightly on the back: “I’ve missed you, too. Thank you for taking care of me, big brother.” He winked at Dick, who beamed in return.

“Are you two coming up? Alfred just told me dinner was ready.” Dick did a backflip as he jumped off Clark.

“You can go up first. I have work to do.” Bruce was already sitting down in his high back chair, turning on the computer.

“You know things are back to normal when Bruce starts skipping dinner again.” Dick grimaced before running to the stairs. “Rush you to the dining room, Clark!”

Clark didn't follow immediately. He walked behind Bruce, placed his hands on his shoulders, and squeezed them gently: “Had an epiphany today, detective?”

“Come back after dinner. I should have something to share then.”

Now that he knew where to look, Bruce accessed the master activity log of the InterSpace satellites through his own privileged mode and located the date of the Qhognas’ appearance. There it was. Three neighboring satellites had pointed their gamma ray projectors to exactly the same spot, the combined level of power just enough to create a tear in the space-time continuum for a short time. The unusual activity was not an automated response, but the result of a manual command from an admin account.

No wonder Luthor seemed concerned about the changes in the new prototype. Bruce combed through the data from the past year all the way back to before the first launch. He spotted a total of five similar commands dating back to six months ago, from an IP address that he quickly located on the other screen—Luthor’s personal residence. The man was too comfortable and arrogant to even cover his traces.

Cross referencing with images from his own satellites and the Watchtower on the dates of those five commands, he realized that Luthor had actually successfully opened the portals twice to let something come through. Bruce remembered both incidents, all within the past two months: an earthbound asteroid half the size of the Moon, and most recently, a throng of extraterrestrial nomads with magic weapons.

Hearing footsteps behind him, Bruce swiveled around to see Clark carrying a plate of mushroom chicken and mashed potatoes. Clark always had the courtesy to walk instead of flying in the cave. He placed the food and cutlery by the keyboard and sat down in the chair next to Bruce. “So, what have you discovered?”

“Remember the asteroid from last month?”

“Sure. That was an easy one. What about it?”

“The asteroid and the Qhognas weren’t just accidents. Luthor opened portals with the InterSpace satellites.”

Clark raised an eyebrow: “Under your watch? How?”

“The satellite’s operating system was programmed to deliver mid- to high-level alerts to the Batcomputer, but Luthor hacked into an admin account. It should be easily fixable, if I change the system alert criteria, redefine access privileges, and mask it as a regular WayneTech service pack upgrade.”

“But why did Luthor do this? He must be onto something. Wait, these dates match…” Clark leaned forward as Bruce pulled up their Luthor files.

“…with some of his largest transactions in arms trafficking and Kryptonite dealing,” Bruce finished for him. “Good enough reasons for him to want to distract you. Crazy enough to expose the entire planet to random threats for his own sake.”

“That’s Lex Luthor for you.”

“But we’ll bring him to justice,” stated Bruce.

“Yes, we will,” Clark smiled as their eyes locked.


	13. The Proposal

_Earthquake in Italy. Have to help. Will be home late._

Bruce checked his phone again. It was 2:01 a.m. The last message from Clark was already four hours ago.

Dropping the phone, he returned to the keyboard and wrapped up his most recent report, documenting the dismantling of a network of shell companies and intermediaries connected to Luthor’s illicit activities. He would discuss these details with Clark later.

He then clicked open an email attachment containing the draft of a policy research report from a think tank that the Wayne Foundation had been sponsoring over the years. Having carefully read through its major arguments advocating reforms of Gotham’s public healthcare system, he added few questions and comments before sending it back to them. The next flagged email, actually from the foundation, asked him to approve the proposal of a new charity grant dedicated to support qualifying adults, young people, and children affected by cancer or its treatment. Confirming his e-signature with a final tap, he decided to call it a day.

Bruce took a quick shower in the cave, shrugged on his black silk lounge robe, and strolled upstairs to the unlit study. Sinking into the tall armchair, he did a long, lazy stretch. The full moon was again hanging outside the window. Many years ago, on a moonless, starless night, a lost bat once crashed through this very window, twitching in darkness. But tonight was different. Moonlight shrouded his study in a pearly glow, bright enough for him to see the portrait hung high on the wall, his parents looking over him with perennially loving eyes and genuine but reserved smiles.

He gazed at their clasped hands. For a long time since he lost them, he didn't think he would ever be able to have what his parents had. He had learned to avoid sentimentality, knowing how raw and vulnerable it had left him the very few times he let his guard slip. As Batman took over Bruce Wayne in his life, he had altogether stopped considering the possibility of loving and trusting someone enough to be his partner in all aspects.

He didn't think anyone would choose to love him, either—if they ever saw past the playboy façade in the first place—once they discovered the dark tangle of rage, fear, and guilt, the nightmares that kept returning, the wounds that would never heal.

And yet here he sat, waiting for someone to _come home_.

His phone lit up with a new message. He picked it up immediately.

_Almost done here. Anything you want from Emilia-Romagna?_

_Just you. Come find me in the study._

Bruce stood up to open the wine in the bar cart, poured two glasses, and took a sip from one. A fruitier, bolder, and more tannic red than his usual Burgundy. Clark always liked the classic Napa style. It rather suited him.

There were three knocks on the door as he put down the glass. Bruce smiled. Clark was polite as ever.

“Sorry for being so late, Bruce.” Clark had already showered and changed. With his damp curly hair, dressed in his old Metropolis U t-shirt and faded loose fit jeans, the world’s most powerful being looked nothing more than a mild-mannered graduate student. “You could’ve gone to bed first.”

“I’m usually the nocturnal one. Want a drink?” Bruce raised the other glass to him.

Bruce could see that Clark was about to refuse—he only drank on special occasions, citing his inability to get drunk a waste of Bruce’s expensive wine and scotch—but stopped when he glanced at the label of the bottle. It was the same wine that they had shared over dinner on their seventh anniversary. Bruce bought ten cases of it after that night.

Bruce knew he knew what it meant. They hadn’t talked about the elephant in the room since Clark’s return to full form a month ago. To be honest, part of the delay was intentional on Bruce’s part. He needed the time to prepare, but he also thought the monumentality of his plan called for the full moon tonight—he always enjoyed some dramatic flare when it served the purpose well.

Clark took the glass, clinking his. “Cheers then,” he said lightly, but his eyes were half nervous and half expectant. They sat down in the armchairs and drank as Bruce asked: “How was the situation in Italy?”

“Not very good, to be honest. There were already four workers dead in a factory before I got there.”

“I’m sorry.” Bruce and Clark had both learned and—however reluctantly—accepted the fact that there would always be people even they could not save. It still stung every time a life slipped away through their fingers, questioning if they hadn’t tried hard enough, reminding them that, if not careful, they could lose even more of what they held dear at any time. “The news said they measured a magnitude of 6.3, the greatest in recent years.”

“I’m glad I was there to prevent more deaths,” Clark sighed. “A lot were reduced to rubbles. Houses, churches, historical buildings. Many people will probably be homeless, thousands maybe.”

“It’ll likely take a long time for the region to recover. Given the temperature, there could be risks of a plague pandemic, too.”

“Yes, but the people I met there were really resilient and generous,” said Clark, smiling slightly as he took another sip of the wine. “They were letting others into their own homes, sharing food, tending the injured. I think they can come out of this stronger and more united than before.”

“It’s always hope and optimism for you,” said Bruce with affectionate resignation.

“Well, don’t tell me they haven’t grown on you after all these years.”

Bruce drained the rest of the wine in his glass, “Maybe just a little.”

As their conversation came to a lull, Bruce’s throat tightened. He squeezed gently the small black box in his pocket and felt its velvety texture against his fingertips. Slowly pulling it out, he opened the box and set it on the end table between them.

“I had these made for us.”

In the box was a pair of matching rings, each on a chain, made of platinum inlaid with pure, unheated cornflower blue sapphire. Bruce watched Clark’s eyes widen as he took the box to examine the objects. _Still not comparable to Clark’s eyes, but close enough._

“Is this you asking me to marry you?” Clark smiled, his voice quiet.

“Well, it seemed a good idea for us to have something that…symbolized our commitment. Since we can’t always wear rings on our fingers, I thought we could wear them on chains instead.”

“They are so beautiful and thoughtful, Bruce,” Clark lifted one ring and tilted it to examine the date engraved on the inside that glinted against the moonlight. “Wait. This isn’t today.”

“It’s the date of the last full moon. You proposed to me, after all. I merely had the rings made,” Bruce shrugged.

Clark turned to look at him with an aching tenderness. He suddenly stood up, took a wide step to close the distance between them, and knelt on one knee in front of Bruce, reaching out ever so slowly while staring into his eyes as if looking for permission. Bruce made an inconspicuous nod, his breath hitched. Clark carefully unclasped the chain, wrapped it around Bruce’s neck with the softest brush of fingers, and snapped close the clasp. Not breaking eye contact, Bruce reached for the other ring and mirrored his action.

For a moment, they rested their hands on the rings in almost perfect symmetry, relishing the rise and fall of each other’s chest as they breathed quietly in unison. Light and dark. Hope and fear. Smallville and Gotham. Blue denim and black silk. They were opposites in many ways that intrigued and attracted, but not in ways that truly defined them.

Before Bruce realized, Clark slid one knee between his thighs and cupped his face with strong hands, kissing him with such hunger, longing, and passion as if they were kissing for the very first time years ago, in a post-battle rush of adrenaline mixed with fear, relief, and desire. It seemed forever before their lips parted and left both of them panting.

Bruce felt his head swimming as he gathered his thoughts. “I…err…I still don't think it’s the best idea for us to go register as a married couple right away without more preparations. It could raise unnecessary suspicions,” he admitted.

“I understand that.” Clark was still smiling, so Bruce continued.

“I know we’ve never told the League about us officially. We can do that soon if you want.”

“I’d like that. Yes.”

“And the medical power of attorney should be easy. I’ve already spoken with my lawyers. I can also add you to my will.”

“Alright. I can do the same thing.”

“And then…I guess we’ll go from there. One thing at a time.”

“One thing at a time,” Clark repeated, nodding.

They kissed again, this time slow, languid, and thorough. “Oh Bruce…” Clark sighed deeply as he pulled away, looking at Bruce with those mesmerizing blue eyes as if he was the most precious thing in the world. Bruce leaned forward to recapture Clark’s lips, revisiting every corner of his mouth with his tongue and reveling in the comfortable familiarity of his taste and smell with an extra tinge of wine.

Skeptics of Superman often questioned what exactly the alien wanted from this world, knowing he could have as little connection to this planet and taken as much as he pleased should he intended to. Tabloids always lamented what Bruce Wayne could still want in this world, knowing that aside from his tragic childhood, he had been living every man’s dream with his wealth, fame, and a seemingly endless line of attractive companions.

The truth was, it wasn’t about what they wanted. It was destiny, or sheer luck perhaps, that two lone men who had readied themselves to lead their own crusades somehow found a kindred soul in each other; that after so many years of hopes and fears, truths and secrets, life and death, they had learned to fall back on each other, knowing that they loved and were loved equally and wholly, with the certainty and fullness of the heart.

“I love you, Bruce,” Clark whispered in his ears.

Feeling the shape of two rings pressed intimately between their heat and weight, Bruce responded, “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe I just finished my first multi-chapter story! As the world we live in right now continue to surprise us in so many disheartening ways, we could all use some warm fuzzies from Clark and Bruce. 
> 
> Many thanks to those who left comments and kudos along the way—you made me so happy as an author! I really enjoyed the process and can’t wait to hear what you think of the full work. I also have quite a few more story ideas about these two boys and I hope to share them soon...


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